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THE 



PENNS & PENINGTONS 



®l)e SctJenteciitl) QTeiiturn, 

IN TUlilK 

DOMESTIC AND RELIGIOUS LIFE: 

ILLUSTRATED BY 

ORIGINAL FAMILY LETTERS: 



ALSO INCIDENTAL NOTICES OF THEIR FRIEND 

THOMAS ELLWOOD, 

WITH SOME OF 

ijis llnpnblislieb Verses. 
By MARIA WEBB, 

AuUior of " The Fells of ,SwarUinioor Hall mid their Frienrh.^' 



PH n. A D ]■: LPIIIA: 

HENRY L O N G S T R E T 11, 

1 3 .5 8 CHEST x\ II T ST K K E T. 

18G8. 



lU li 



Cxi'-" 



• • 



PREFACE. 



This work originated in the belief that a voknne 
depicting the religious and domestic life of Isaac 
Penington, of William Penn, and of Thomas Ell- 
wood would be especially useful at the present 
time. Their lives were bright examples of the 
ennobling and strengthening influence of true 
religion. They differed materially in natural cha- 
racter from one another ; but in each may be seen 
the distinguishing marks of the followers of the 
Lord Jesus carried into their varied spheres of 
operation ; for their religion was practical as well 
as spiritual. And in their wives we have a 
beautiful exemplification of Christian matrons 
aiding and cheering their husbands amid trials 
and persecutions; and rejoicing in their faithful- 
ness, notwithstanding the frowns of the world, 

3 



4 Preface. 

Tender-hearted and womanly, yet active and en- 
during, they show us what such women can do, 
in filling the blanks at home occasioned by their 
husbands' unavoidable absence. 

These eminent Friends unitedly stand forth as 
noble examples of the conduct and principles 
which graced the earlier days of Quakerism, in 
the church, in the family, and in the general 
community. 

It has been my endeavour as far as possible, in 
tracing their religious principles and spiritual ex- 
perience, to let them express their feelings in their 
own words : hence the numerous extracts from 
their letters. 

Theirs was an age of great religious excitement, 
and gave rise to a vast amount of controversial 
writing, to wliich Friends very largely contributed. 
Those who wish for information on this subject are 
referred to the laborious and exhaustive Catalogue 
of Quaker authors and their works which Joseph 
Smith, of Oxford-street, Whitechapel, London, has 
now in course of publication. 

In collecting materials for this volume I have 
received assistance from many friends, to whom I 
take this opportunity of expressing my grateful 



Preface, j 

acknowledgments ; as well as to the members of 
the London Morning Meeting, who have kindly 
supplied me with copies of such . of the documents 
under their care as were likely to suit my purpose ; 
and more especially to those who corresponded 
with me in relation to them. 

I am also greatly indebted to the Friends who 
have supplied me with materials from their 
private manuscript collections of old documents; 
and to those residing in the neighborhood of 
the localities referred to in this work, who have 
spared no pains to give me information respecting 
them. 

In taking leave of this work, which in its pro- 
gress has been a source of deep interest to the 
writer, hallowed memories connected with its 
origin present themselves. Some who rejoiced 
to hear of its commencement are no longer here 
to welcome its introduction to the public. Of the 
loved and valued friends removed during that 
interim to a higher and holier sphere, there is one 
name which I desire especially to associate with 
this book. It is that of my beloved brother, 
the late Joshua Lamb, of Peartree-hill, near Lis- 
burn, than whom I never knew any one who more 



6 Preface. 

fully appreciated William Penn's mind, and the 
value of his religious writings. It was by his 
recommendation I was first led to study Penn's 
Address to Protestants, a work which, in a some- 
what condensed form, might with great advantage 
be republished in the present day, in which Ritu- 
alism on the one hand, and Calvinism on the 
other are making such inroads upon the pure 
doctrines of Christianity. 

M. W. 

28th of Fourth-month, ISGt. 



NOTE ON THE PORTRAIT OF GULIELMA MARIA PENN. 

The original of this portrait is a painting on glass in the possession 
of the descendants of Henry Swan of Holmwood, Dorking, who died in 
1796. It was given to him by John Townsend of London, at an un- 
known date, and along with it one of William Penn. Jemima Swan, 
the present owner of these portraits, kindly gave permission to have 
copies of them engraved for this work. The artist had the portrait of 
the lady nearly completed, when my friend John Thompson, of Hitchin, 
informed me that he had engravings of the great-grand-parents of the 
late Joseph John Gurney in his possession, closely resembling the pho- 
tographic copies of the reputed portraits of William and Gulielma Penn, 
and he very kindly took them out of their frames and sent them for my 
inspection. I found points of dissimilarity us well as of resemblance. 



Preface. 7 



The busts were different, and there was some difference in the attitude 
of the lady ; but the dresses were so exactly alike, — each button, fold, 
and slope being the same, — that there was evidently some original 
connection between the paintings and engravings. A correspondence 
ensued between John Thompson and Daniel Gurney, the senior repre- 
sentative of the Gurney fiimily, from which it was ascertained that the 
portraits of the Gurneys were first engraved in 1746, and that subse- 
quently two copies of different sizes were executed. These engravings 
have always been regarded by the family as authentic likenesses, but 
they have never known of the existence of any paintings from which 
they were taken. Two sets of engravings were executed in the life- 
time of Joseph and Hannah Middleton Gurney ; but without their 
names, and probably without their knowledge; the first set being 
styled A Sincere Quaker and A Fair Quaker. Family tradition speaks 
of Hannah Middleton Gurney as having been surpassingly handsome. 

Joseph Gurney and his wife were contemporaries of the Penns, and 
though much their juniors in age, it is probable that up to the time of 
their marriage in 1713, the style of their dress was not materially difiFerent 
from that of the Penns. From all these circumstances it appears to me 
most likely that both sets of portraits are genuine as regards the heads 
and faces, but that the dresses of the Gurneys, except hat and hood, 
are copied from those of the Penns, possibly because he who employed 
the artist had only busts of the Gurneys. 

I am aware of the statement made by Granville Penn, and repeated by 
other writers, that the portrait of William Penn in armour, painted in 
Dublin in 1666, was the only likeness of him ever executed. But a 
second portrait might be in existence without his knowledge; as it 
is not probable any likeness of William Penn, accompanying (as this 
does) that of his first wife, should come into the possession of the 
children of his second wife, from whom Granville Penn was descended. 
Any such portraits would naturally be left to Letitia Aubrey, Gulielma's 
only daughter ; and as she died childless and always remained amongst 
Friends, is it not most likely that after her death they became the pro- 
perty of the Friend who gave them to Henry S\v;in? 



3 • Preface. 

With this view of the case I leave the question to those who can 
follow i't to a more certain conclusion. It is worth further scrutiny, as 
the Swan portraits, if really those of the Penns, would be a most inte- 
resting illustration of their history, especially as they give us a likeness 
of the Pennsylvanian legislator in the prime of life. — M. W. 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER 



1623-1658. 



The Chalfont Grange. — Isaac Penington settles there. — Alderman 
Penington and the Commonwealth. — Isaac Penington's politics. — 
His religious feelings. — Memoir of Mary Proude. — The Puritans. — 
The Springetts. — William Springett's home-life. — His removal to 
Cambridge. — Becomes a law-student. — Is knighted. — Mary Proude's 
religious difficulties. — Forsakes the Church of England. — Joins the 
Puritans. — Sir William Springett returns home. — Marries Mary 
Proude. — Birth and baptism of their first child. — Sir William joins 
the Parliamentary army. — His promptness in raising troops. — 
Wounded at the battle of Newbury. — His ability as a soldier. — His 
death and burial Page 17 to 4G 



CHAPTER II. 
1640-1658. 

Sir William Springett's character. — Change in his religious opinions. — 
Puritan iconoclasts. — Aid to Irish Protestants. — Domestic cha- 
racteristics. — Monument to his memory. — Birth of Gulielma Maria, 
Springett. — Her mother's religious feelings about infant baptism. — 
Character of Madam Springett. — Her useful life. — Her medical skill. 
Expenditure of her income. — Herbert Springett. — His monument in 
Ringmer church. — Lady Springett's dissatisfaction with the religion- 
ists around her. — Withdrawal. — Tries fashionable life. — Her retro- 
spect of that period. — Acquaintance with Isaac Penington. — Their 
marriage.— Fir.it acquaintance with the Quakers. — William Simpson 



lo Contents. 

and Thomas Curtis visit the Peningtons. — They are convinced of the 
truth of Quaker doctrines. — Religious joy and comfort. — Establish- 
ment in the truth Page 47 to 76 



CHAPTER III. 

1658-1661. 

The EUwoods' visit to the Peningtons at Chalfont. — Their impressions 
of their Quaker friends. — James Nayler and Edward Burrough at the 
Grange. — Discussion on the doctrine of election. — Isaac Penington's 
account of his early religious feelings and views. — His later spiritual 
experience. — Letters to his father, the Alderman. — Alderman Pening- 
ton's impeachment as a regicide. — Charles the Second's declaration 
from Breda. — Alderman Penington's condemnation. — Imprisonment 
in the Tower and confiscation of his estates. — Sir John Robinson's 
crueltv. — Alderman Penington's death Page 77 to 106 



CHAPTER IV. 

1642-1661. 

Thomas Ellwood's early life. — His second visit to Chalfont. — His con- 
vincement. — Joins the Friends — His father's displeasure — The Pen- 
ingtons' visit to Crowell. — Young Ellwood returns with them to the 
Grange. — He is arrested for travelling on the first day of the week. — 
Quaker and Presbyterian views of the Sabbath. — Thomas Ellwood 
returns to Crowell. — Is imprisoned in Oxford under keeping of the 
Marshal. — Isaac Penington writes to him from Aylesbury jail, and 
Thomas Loe from that of Oxford. — Ellwood is released. — Isaac Pen- 
ington's letter from Aylesbury to his wife. — His trials and difficulties. 
— Is released from prison Page 107 to 137 



CHAPTER V. 

1662. 

Thomas Ellwod's desire to cultivate his knowledge of Latin. — His intro- 
duction to John Milton. — He finally leaves Crowell and settles in 
London. — Becomes reader to Milton. — His enjoyment of that privilege. 
— Is imi)risoncd with other Friends in Old Bridewell. — Trial. — Im- 
prisonment in Newgate. — Crowded state of that jail. — Prison life. — 



Contents. ii 

Inquest at Newgate. — Removal to Old Bridewell. — Is released.— 
Visits his friends in Newgate. — Visits Milton. — Goes to Chalfont.— 
Is engaged as tutor at the Grange. — His grief at the death of Edward 
Burrough Page 138 to 164 



CHAPTER VI. 

1662-1669. 

Ellwood a tutor at Chalfont. — Gulielma Maria Springett. — His portrait 
of her character. — Her suitors. — EUwood's cautious demeanour to- 
wards her. — " He for whom she was reserved." — William Penn. — 
Penn's Oxford experience. — Is expelled the University. — His father's 
displeasure and severity. — Continental travel. — Returns home. — 
Becomes a law student. — The plague in London. — Sent to the Duke 
of Ormond's court in Dublin. — His first and last military exploit. — 
Settles at Shangarry Castle, near Cork. — Visits the Friends' meeting 
there, and hears Thomas Loe preach. — Is imprisoned with the 
Quakers. — Released by order of Lord Ossory and summoned to Lon- 
don. — Interview with his father. — Sir William turns his son out of 
doors. — Penn becomes a religious writer. — First interview with Guli 
Springett. — Controversy. — Imprisonment in the Tower. — Writes In- 
nocency with her Open Face. — Is released. — Acquaintance with the 
Peningtons. — His letter to Isaac Penington on the death of Thomas 
Loe. — Goes again to Ireland Page 165 to 199 

CHAPTER VII. 

1665-1671. 

Further persecution of the Friends. — The plague in London. — John 
Milton removes to Chalfont. — Magisterial tyranny. — Penington and 
Ellwood imprisoned. — The latter, on being released, visits Milton. — 
The manuscript of Paradise Lost handed to him to read. — Paradise 
Regained suggested by Ellwood. — Earl of Bridgwater imprisons Isaac 
Penington. — Penington's letter to his wife from Aylesbury jail. — 
Penington writes from prison to the Earl of Bridgwater. — A respite. 
— Another letter to his wife. — Writes to the Aniersham Friends from 
Aylesbury jail, — and to George Fox. — Penington's letter to his uncle 
— to his cousin. — Removed by Habeas Corpus to London. — Dis- 
missed by proclamation. — Purchases AVoodside. — Rebuilding of the 
old house. — Imprisonment of Isaac Penington in Reading jail. — Is 
released. — Christian influence in jtrison Page 200 to 232 



1 2 Contents. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

1666-1669. 

Quaker meeting at Hedgerly. — Ambrose Bennett, the magistrate, breaks 
it up. — Judith Parker, the doctor's wife, remonstrates. — Bennett again 
imprisons Friends. — Release from prison. — Solemn meeting of Friends 
for the restoration of those who had been drawn away by John Perrot. 
— Perrot's mission to the Pope. — His imprisonment in Rome. — Release 
and return home. — Extravagant proceedings. — Establishment of meet- 
ings for discipline by George Fox. — Ellwood's choice of a wife. — 
Details of his courtship. — Is accepted. — Adventurous journey with 
Gulielma M. Springett. — Ellwood's bravery. — Gulielma's return home. 
— Ellwood's marriage. — Isaac Penington's son lost at sea. — Ellwood's 
grief.— His poetical effusions Page 233 to 260 



CHAPTER IX. 

1670. 

William Penn ceralled from Ireland. — Reconciliation with his father. — 
Decline of the Admiral's health. — Conventicle Act. — William Penn a 
prisoner with William Meade. — His letter to his father from prison. — 
Penn and Meade at the bar. — Indicted for a riot. — The jury refuse to 
bring them in guilty. — The Recorder repeatedly insists that they 
must reconsider their verdict. — They persist in presenting the same. — 
Are confined to the juryroom for two nights and two days without 
food. — Ultimate triumph of jury, and liberation of the prisoners. — 
Jurymen and prisoners committed for pretended contempt of court. — 
Penn's letters from prison to his dying father. — Release from prison. — 
The jurymen bring an action against the Recorder for false imprison- 
ment. — Triumph of the jury. — Death of Admiral Sir William Penn. — 
His last advice to his son. — The Admiral's monument. — William 
Penn's ability as a controversialist Page 261 to 289 



CHAPTER X. 

1672-1679. 

Sir John Robinson again imprisons William Penn. — Sends him to 
Newgate. — State of that prison. — Penn's prison occupation. — Release. 



Contents. 13 

— Visits the Continent. — His marriage. — Settles at Ruscombe. — Visit 
of the Swarthmoor family. — Imprisonment of George Fox. — William 
Penn writes to his friend in prison. — Controversy between Penn and 
Baxter. — Penn as a controversialist. — As an arbitrator. — Quaker 
trusteeship in connection with New Jersey. — Purchase of land from 
the Indians. — Government of New Jersey. — The Penns settle at 
Worminghurst. — Family concerns. — Another Continental visit. — ■ 
Penn's speeches before the Parliamentary Committee.— His address to 
Protestants Page 290 to 320 



CHAPTER XI. 

1673-1682. 

Cessation of Isaac Penington's religious persecution. — Penington's letters 
— to his brother Arthur, a Roman Catholic — to Joseph Wright 
respecting his brother — to his sister Judith — to the Countess of Con- 
way. — Peace and happiness at Woodside. — Isaac and Mary Penington 
visit their property in Kent. — Isaac Penington's death. — Mary Pen- 
ington's memorial of her husband. — She anticipates her own decease. 
— Arranges her outward affairs and makes her will. — Takes her sons 
to school at Edmonton. — Her illness there. — Returns home. — 
Continued illness. — Her resignation, patience, and peace of mind. — 
She visits Worminghurst, and dies there. — Thomas Ellwood's lines on 
the death of his friends Isaac and Mary Penington. Page 321 to 342 



CHAPTER XII. 
1681-1684. 

William Penn applies to Charles II. for a grant of land in America. — 
Obtains a charter for Pennsylvania. — Penn's motives in this undertak- 
ing. — His code of laws. — His coadjutors in the work. — Algernon 
Sidney. — Penn's letter to Sidney. — Hepworth Dixon on the early 
Quakers. — Death of Lady Penn. — Penn's farewell letters on leaving 
England. — Emigration to Pennsylvania. — His treaty of peace with the 
Indians. — Purchases of land from them. — Gulielma Penn in her 
husband's absence. — Poetical address by Thomas Ellwood to his friend 
in America. — Letter from Gulielma Penn to Margaret Fox. — William 
Penn's return. — His letter to Margaret Fox Page 343 to 378 



14 Contents, 

CHAPTER XIII. 

1684-1693. 

William Penn's difficulties about the boundary line of his province. — 
His outlay without due return. — His influence with James II. — 
Is accused of being a Jesuit. — His correspondence with Dr. Tillotson. 
— "William Penn at Chester during the King's progress. — King James 
driven from the Throne. — The Prince and Princess of Orange invited 
to assume the Crown. — William Penn suspected of treasonable corres- 
pondence with the exiled James II. — Letter from Gulielma Maria 
Penn to Margaret Fox. — Death of George Fox. — William Penn 
arrested. — Examined before the King and Privy Council. — Is im- 
prisoned. — His writings during his seclusion. — His province seques- 
trated. — Confiscation of his Irish estates. — Is restored to liberty. — 
Death of Gulielma Penn Page 374 to 397 



CHAPTER XIV. 

1694-1847. 

William Penn's testimony respecting George Fox. — Penn applies suc- 
cessfully to Queen Mary for a restoration of his chartered rights in 
Pennsylvania. — Springett Penn's illness. — His death and character, — 
Removal of the Penn family to Bristol. — William Penn and his son 
visit Ireland. — He removes with his ftxmily to Pennsylvania. — Is 
cordially welcomed. — Pennsbury past and present. — Slaves employed 
there. — Efforts in England to break Penn's charter. — Is obliged to 
return to defend it. — William Penn jun. in Pennsylvania. — His 
conduct and character. — Philip Ford's fraudulent claims. — Logan's 
opinion of him. — Penn in the Fleet prison. — Efforts which led to 
his release. — The Provincial Assembly of Pennsylvania. — Prosperity 
of the settlement. — William Penn is attacked by paralysis.— Its 
effect on his mind during succeeding years. — Thomas Story at Rus- 
combe. — Death of William Penn. — His will. — Death of William 
Penn, jun. — His descendants. — Death of Hannah Penn. — Her de- 
scendants. — Descendants of the Peningtons. — Death of Thomas and 
Mary Ellwood Page 308 to 44G 



THE 

PENNS AND PENINGTONS, 



CHAPTER I. 

1623-1658. 

The Chalfont Grange. — Isaac Penington settles there. — Alderman 
Penington and the Commonwealth. — Isaac Penington's politics. — 
His religious feelings. — Memoir of Mary Proude. — The Puritans. — 
The Springetts. — William Springett's home-life. — His removal to 
Cambridge. — Becomes a law-student. — Is knighted. — Mary Proude's 
religious difficulties. — Forsakes the Church of England. — Joins the 
Puritans. — Sir William Springett returns home. — Marries Mary 
Proude. — Birth and baptism of their first child. — Sir William joins 
the Parliamentary army. — His promptness in raising troops. — 
Wounded at the battle of Newbury. — His ability as a soldier. — His 
death and burial. 

More than two hundred years have passed away 
since Isaac Penington, eldest son to Alderman 
Penington of London, brought his family to 
reside at the Grange, in the parish of St. Peter's, 
Chalfont, Buckinghamshire. Of the original old 
building in which they dwelt only a small portion is 
now standing ; on its site a modern villa has been 
erected, and that part of the ancient house still in 
existence does not present itself to view in front. 
2 17 



1 3 The Pe/n)Mjfo7h9 at Chdlfont. 

The Grange was a happy home in those by-gone 
times. It was an abode where mental refinement, 
literary taste, and evidences of an abiding sense of 
God's presence pervaded the resident family. The 
Peningtons settled there in the year 1658 — the 
same year in which Oliver Cromwell died. 

The rustic beauty of the Chalfont vallies must 
have made that quiet neighborhood delightful to 
them, when contrasted with the social unrest and 
persecuting intolerance of which they had recently 
seen so much in the metropolis. The Grange 
was the family mansion which belonged to the 
paternal estate that Isaac Penington inherited 
from his ancestors. His father Alderman Pening- 
ton had given up to his eldest son the property in 
question, on his marriage with Lady Springe tt. 
The fe^v^ years that had elapsed from that event to 
their settlement at the Chalfont Grange, had been 
chiefly spent in London and its vicinity, where the 
highest circles were open to them. 

Alderman Penington had inherited a handsome 
property from his father, who was Kobert Pening- 
ton, a London merchant. He also commenced 
life as a merchant, but being in easy circum- 
stances he soon devoted himself to civic duties, 
and Ijecame an active, earnest politician. He was 
married to Abigail, daughter of John Allen of 
London. In 1G38 he served as high sheriff of 
London, and in 1G40 he was elected Member of 
Parliament for the cit}', and made himself very 



The Peningtons and the Commomoealth. 19 

conspicuous in the House by his advocacy of the 
rights of the Parliament and the people. In 1642 
he was chosen Lord Mayor of London, and after- 
wards was appointed Lieutenant of the Tower. He 
was one of the Commissioners of the High Court 
of Justice for the trial of Charles L, but he 
did not sign the warrant for his execution. He 
received the honour of knighthood from the 
Speaker of the House of Commons; and in 1649 
was made a member of the Council of State. 

At the time Alderman Penington served as 
High Sheriff of London, his son Isaac Pening- 
ton, junr. was twenty-two years of age. We may 
conceive from the above glance at his father s 
career, what opportunities for worldly aggrandize- 
ment the intervening twenty years, from 1638 to 
1658, must have spread before the son of that 
popular, wealthy, democratic politician. But of no 
such opportunities did he avail himself; the aspi- 
rations of the son were not directed by ambition ; 
they were deep and earnest, but not worldly ; more 
of the maternal than the paternal type. His 
mother's heartfelt desires were rather for the reli- 
gious welfare, and the establishment of the Chris- 
tian character of her children, than for their eleva- 
tion in the world ; and these feelings met a cordial 
response in the mind of her eldest son. It is true 
he did not ignore the importance of the great 
political questions which so much engrossed his 
father s attention, and which were so earnestly de- 



20 Isaac PeniiHjtons political vietvs. 

bated in that day. But whenever he wrote on 
them, which was not often, he discussed them in a 
reasonable and Christian spirit, untinctured by par- 
tizan bitterness. 

One of his publications, written in 1651, which 
treats of matters connected with national govern- 
ment, is entitled T7ie Fundamental Bight, Safe- 
ty, and Liberty of the People, In that he says, 
alluding to a limited monarchy, "Though I shall 
not plead for the resettlement of kingly govern- 
ment (for I am not so far engaged in my affec- 
tions to it, as it yet hath been) yet I would not 
have any blame laid upon it beyond its desert; 
for doubtless it hath its advantages above any 
other government, on one hand; as it hath also 
its disadvantages on the other hand." "Kingly 
power did pass its limits — Ave may now speak of 
it." He then goes on to query, "Doth parliament 
now keep within its right limits?" . . . "and if things 
should yet devolve lower, into the great and con- 
fused body of the people, is it likely they would 
keep their limits?" He shows that in establishing 
justice the impossibility of the people acting for 
themselves, and the impropriety of their repre- 
sentatives in parliament assuming both legislative 
and administrative powers. But under no circum- 
stances would his conscience allow him to bind 
himself to a party. He says, "There is not one 
sort of men on the face of the earth to whom 
I bear any enmity in my spirit; but I wish with 



Isaac Peningtons iiolltlcal views. 21 

all my heart they might all attain and enjoy as 
much peace, prosperity, and happiness as their state 
will bear; and there are not any to whom I should 
envy the power of government. But whoever they 
are whom I saw fitted for it, and called to it, they 
should have my vote on their behalf." He goes on 
to show that where the spirit of selfishness holds its 
natural place in men's hearts, their government will 
not promote spontaneously true freedom for others 
who are under them; for when the selfish man has 
great power, it will be exerted in promoting his own 
aggrandizement, and the freedom of others only in 
so far as it suits his selfish ends. Therefore he 
maintained it was alone the change of heart from 
sinful selfishness, to the desire after the promotion 
of Christian righteousness among the national 
governors, that could secure true justice to those 
they governed. 

Openly declaring such views, Isaac Penington 
did not attach himself to any section, in that Avay 
which would prevent him from pointing out wliat 
he thought wrong in their proceedings. We cannot 
wonder under these circumstances, that he was not 
welcomed as a political writer by any of those who 
were struggling for power ; politics in their worldly 
constructions and acceptations could not be long 
pursued by such a mind as his. Religion was his 
home; and it was on religious subjects that his 
heart and pen were chieily engagL-d lor many years 
— labouring to promote rightcousncsb in all things. 



22 Acquaintance ivlth Lady Sprln(jett. 

But in these efforts he met with much that was dis- 
heartening, and finall}^ his hopes became so much 
depressed by the conclusions he drew from the Cal- 
vinistic theology that had been presented to him as 
gospel truths, that his energies for a time seemed 
totally prostrated. In this depressed state he pro- 
videntially made the acquaintance of Lady Sprin- 
gett. Her mind had more natural cheerfulness than 
his ; but, like his, was deeply impressed with the 
consciousness that nothing on earth was worth 
living for if the heart be not fixed in its trust in the 
Lord, and in its desire to do his will on earth above 
all things. With these feelings in her soul, she was 
moving about amid the amusements and fashions 
of London life, when she first became acquainted 
with Isaac Penington. Before she met with him, 
she had had many trying experiences in her search 
after spiritual life. She was the widow of Sir 
William Springett, who died when she was about 
twenty years of age ; and now she was about thirty, 
Isaac Penington being eight years older. 

Penington's acquaintance with Lady Springett 
soon ripened into confidential friendship, and a 
loving attachment succeeded. In 1654 they were 
married. During the interval between their mar- 
riage and removal to the Grange in 1658, they first 
became acquainted with ilia Quakers, or Friends of 
Truth, as tlie}^ originally designated themselves. 

Thoroughly to understand Mary Penington's 
character, we must turn to the accoiuit she wrote of 



Childhood of Mary Proitde. 23 

her own early life. It is comprised in two docu- 
ments ; one left to her daughter, Gulielma Maria 
Penn ; the other a letter addressed to her grandson, 
Springett Penn. The information in these auto- 
biographical sketches I shall endeavour to combine 
so as to form a continuous personal history, as much 
as conveniently can be adhering to the writer's own 
words. "^ 

THE CHILDHOOD AND EARLY LIFE OF MARY 
PROUDE, ULTIMATELY PENINGTON. 

Mary Proude was born about the year 1624, 
and was the only child of Sir John Proude, a 
native of Kent, in which county he had valuable 
landed property. He entered into the military 
service of the States of Holland under the Prince 
of Orange, and was one of the officers killed at 
the siege of Groll in Guelderland. Her mother s 
death took place either immediately after or shortly 
before that of her flither ; so that the little girl was 
left without either of her parents at the age of three 
years. She was brought up in a Protestant family, 
where the ordinances of the Episcopal Church were 
recognized. Speaking of their habits, she says they 
were " a kind of loose Protestants, who minded no 
religion, though they went to their place of wor- 

■" I l)clieve I have studied Mary Penington's autobiographical letters 
in all the forms they have been brought forward — comparing the printed 
selections in this country, and also the American edition in its fulne.-s, 
Vfiih the raauu^^cript copy which ha-^ been transcribed l)y private handi 



24 Rellfjlou of Iter cldldhood. 

ship on Firstrdays, to hear a canonical priest preach 
in the morning, and read common prayers in the 
afternoon. They used common prayers in the 
family, and observed superstitious customs, and 
times, and days of fasting and feasting. At that 
time, when I was afraid in the night season of 
such things as spirits walking, and of thieves, I 
would often say over, as I had been taught, tiat 
which is called the Lord's Prayer, hoping by that 
means to be delivered from the things I feared." 
She used, as many a child has done, the words of 
that beautiful comprehensive prayer us a charm to 
ward off evil, without entering into its spirit, or 
at all comprehending its meaning. But when she 
was about eight years of age, and still living Avith 
the loose Pi^otesiants she speaks of, she heard a 
sermon preached, the text of which made a more 
intelligible religious impression on her mind. It 
was the declaration of the liord Jesus, " Blessed are 
they that hunger and thirst after righteousness, for 
they shall be filled." This, she says, was the first 
scriptural text of which she ever took serious notice, 
and who can imagine what a stay and blessing it 
proved in keeping alive religious hope in many an 
hour of discouragement and depression in after 
years ? It appears to have served as a divine 
anchor, made so secure in that early time that no 
storm could afterwards entirely unsettle it. 

When she was nl)out nine years of age, the little 
orphan girl, who seems to have been the ward of 



Acquaintance ivith the Sjpriyigetts. 25 

Sir Edward Partridge, was removed to his residence. 
He had a large mixed family ; for beside his own 
immediate household, he had a sister, Madam 
Springett, a young widow lady, with her three 
children and their servants, who boarded in his 
house. Madam Springett joined her brother's 
family at meals, but had a private suite of apart- 
ments for her own fiimlly to retire to. She was a 
superior woman in every respect, and of her at- 
tention and kindness little Mary Proude appears 
to have largely partaken. She had a daughter 
Catherine, a little older than Mary, and two sons, 
William and Herbert. With these children Mary 
was educated under the roof of Sir Edward 
Partridge, until the boys were sent to a puljlic 
school. Towards their uncle's ward the young 
Springetts, who were noble youths, acted with a 
chivalrous and most kind consideration, that made 
them the Yevj best of friends. William was about 
two years and a half ^Ider than Mary. She thus 
speaks of his early habits : — 

" He was of a most courteous affable carriaore 

o 

towards all. He was most ingeniously inclined 
from a very lad ; carving and forming tiling-^ with 
his knife or tools ; so industriously active that he 
rarely ever was idle. For when he could not be 
employed abroad in shooting at a mark w^ith a guu, 
pistol, crossbow, or longbow; or managing' his 
horses, which he brought up and trained hims 'If — 
teaching them, boldness in charging, and all tliat 



26 WllJlifni SprliKjeifs hoijliood. 

was needful for service — when he could not, I say, 
be thus engaged abroad, then he would fence within 
doors ; or make crossbows, placing the sight with 
that accurateness as if it had been his trade ; and 
make bow-strings, or cast bullets for his carbines, 
and feather his arrows. At other times he would 
pull his watch to pieces to string it, or to mend any 
defect; or take to pieces, and mend, the house 
clock. He was a great artist not only in shooting 
but in fishing — making lines, and arranging baits 
and things for the purpose. He was also a great 
lover of coursing, and he managed his dogs himself. 
These things I mention to show his ingenuity and 
his industry in his youth. But his mind did not 
run into any vanity about such things after it was 
engaged in religion." 

So long as mere childhood lasted under such 
care and with such companionship and bright sur- 
roundings, Mary's life must have passed on smootli- 
ly and pleasantly. Of the general religious habits 
and tone of the Partridges, she says they seemed to 
be more religious than the other family she had 
previously lived vfitli. " They would not admit of 
sports on the First day of the week, calling it the 
Sa,b])ath ; and they heard two sermons on that day 
of a priest who was not loose in his conversation ; 
he used a form of prayer before his sermon, and 
read common prayer. When I was about eleven 
years of age, a maid-servant who tended on me and 
the rest of the children, and was zealous in that 



Prestoii oil Prayer. 27 

way, would read Smith's and Preston's sermons on 
First-day between the sermons. I diligently heard 
her read, and liking not to use the Lord's Prayer 
only, I got a Prayer-book and read prayers morn- 
ings and nights, according to the days and occa- 
sions. About this time my mind was serious about 
religion, and one day, after w^e came from the place 
of public worship, this forementioned maid-servant 
read one of Preston's sermons on the text, " Pray 
continually." Much was said of the excellency of 
prayer — that it distinguished a saint from the 
world ; for that in many things the world and hy- 
pocrites could imitate a saint, but in prayer they 
could not. This wrought much in my mind all the 
time she read, and it seemed plain to me that I 
knew not right prayer ; for what I used as a prayer 
an ungodly man might do by reading it out of a 
book, and that could not be the prayer which dis- 
tinguished a saint from a wicked one. As soon as 
she had done reading, and all gone out of the 
chamber, I shut the door, and in great distress 
flung myself on the bed, and oppressedly cried out 
aloud, ' Lord, what is prayer ?' At this time I had 
never heard any, nor of any that prayed otherwise 
than by reading, or by composing and writing a 
prayer, which they called a form of prayer. This 
thing so wrought in me, that, as I remember, the 
next morning or very soon after, it came into my 
mind to w^rite a prayer of my own composing to 
use m the mornings. So, as soon as I was out of 



2 8 Early Puritans, 

bed, I wrote a prayer, though I then could scarcely 
join my letters, I had so little a time learned to 
write. It was something of this nature ; that, as 
the Lord commanded the Israelites to offer up a 
morning sacrifice, so I offered up the sacrifice of 
prayer, and desired to be preserved during that 
day. The use of this for a little time gave me 
some ease, and I soon left off using my books, and 
as the feelings arose in me, I wrote prayers accord- 
ing to my several occasions." 

The time when the circumstances above related 
marked the experience of this thoughtful little girl, 
was when the spirit of Puritanism began to be 
manifested in the churches. The reading of the 
common prayers of the Church of England Prayer- 
book, both in public and private worship, was one 
of the practices to which objection began to be rais- 
ed by some of the most strictly religious people of 
that time ; and there were other practices also, in 
both the Episcopal and Presbyterian Churches, to 
wdiich these Puritans — as they were in ridicule call- 
ed — objected. Mary Penington thus continues : — 

" The next prayer I wrote was for an assurance 
of pardon for my sins. I had heard one preach 
how God had pardoned David his sins of His free 
grace ; and as I came from our place of worship, 
I felt how desirable a thing to be assured of the 
pardon of one's sins; so I wrote a pretty large 
prayer concerning it. I felt that it coming of 
grace, though I w^as unworth}-, jet I might rccci^'C 



Forms of prayer. 29 

pardon, and I used earnest expressions about it. 
A little after this I received some acknowledgments 
from several persons of the greatness of my memory, 
and was praised for it. I felt a fear of being puffed 
up with that praise ; so I wrote a prayer of thanks 
for the gift of memory, and expressed my desires 
to use it to the Lord, that it might be sanctified 
to me, and that I might not be puffed up by it. 
These three prayers I used with some ease of mind 
for a time, but not long ; for I began again to ques- 
tion whether I prayed right or not. I knew not 
then that any did pray extempore, but it sprung up 
in my mind that to use words according to the sense 
I was in of my wants, was true prayer, which I at- 
tempted to do, but could not ; sometimes kneeling 
down a long time, but had not a word to say. This 
wrought great trouble in me, and I had none to 
reveal myself to, or advise with, but bore a great 
burthen about it on my mind ; till one day, as I was 
sitting at work in the parlour, a gentleman that 
was against the superstitions of the times came in, 
and looking sorrowful, said ' it was a sad day.' This 
was soon after Prynne, Bastwick, and Burton were 
sentenced to have their ears cut, and to be im- 
prisoned. It sunk deep into my spirit, and strong 
cries were in me for them, and for the innocent 
people in the nation. It wrought so strongly in 
me, that I could not sit at my work, but left it, 
and went into a ]3i*ivate room, and, shutting the 
door, kneeled down and poured out my soul to the 



JO Prsecntlon of Prjjnne and othem. 

Lord ill a very vehement manner, and was wonder- 
fully melted and eased. I then felt peace and ac- 
cej^tance with the Lord, and was sure that this was 
prayer [in spirit and in truth], which I never was 
in like manner acquainted with before, either in my- 
self or from any one else." 

The persecution and cruel punishment of Prynne, 
Bastwick, and Burton, which called forth the deep 
sympathy and the earnest prayers of this young 
girl, occurred during the year 1637. Neal, in his 
History of the Puritans, tells us that Prynne was 
prosecuted for writing a book entitled Hlstrlomas- 
trix^ against plays, masques, dancing, etc., and Avas 
condemned by the Court of Star Chamber to be 
degraded from his profession of the law; to be 
pilloried at Westminster and in Cheapside, at each 
place to lose an ear; to be fined £5,000; and to 
suffer perpetual imprisonment. Burton was a 
parish priest who published two sermons against 
the late innovations in the church. Bastwick was a 
physician who wrote a book entitled Eleucis re- 
ligionis Papistlca. They were all three fined 
£5,000 each, had their ears cut ofi*, and were con- 
demned to perpetual imprisonment. Archbishop 
Laud was present at the passing of the sentence. 
Of course such persecution and cruelty had the 
effect of weakening the attachment of great num- 
bers to the Establisliment, and eventually of causing 
them to separate from the church which promoted 
it. 



Willf^u]) Springett at Carnhridge. 9i 

It is evident that clui'ing the period of earl\' reli- 
gious exercise aUuded to above, Mary Proude did 
not open her mind to any person. One would think 
she might have done so to her friend Madam 
Springett; but on the subject which chietiy en- 
grossed her feelings it is probable she perceived that 
lady felt no special difficulties, such as had taken 
hold of her mind respecting prayer. Madam Sprin- 
gett at the period in question nominally belonged to 
the Church of England, but had largely given her 
religious confidence to the Puritan section of the 
Church, as is evinced by her choosing a Puritan 
tutor for her sons when she sent them to College. 

In relation to her son William the narrative says, 
" She sent him to Cambridge, as being accounted 
more sober than Oxford, and placed him in a Puri- 
tan college called St. Catherine's Hull, where was a 
very sober tender Master of the house, and a grave 
sober tutor ; for she appointed him one Ellis, who 
was accounted a Puritan ; she having brought him 
up in his youth, and had used her influence to get 
him the preferment of a Fellow in that College." 

Relative to her own experience, M. Penington 
proceeds thus : — " Word having been brought to the 
house that a neighbouring minister, who had been 
suspended by the bishops for not being subject to 
their canons, had returned to his people again, and 
that he was to preach at the same place where he 
had preached three years before, I desired to go. 
For this I was reproved by those who had the care 



32 Pariian preaching. 

of me, as being not lit to leave my parish church. 
I could not comply with their mind, but felt I must 
go. When I came, I found the minister was indeed 
one of those called Puritans. He prayed fervently, 
and with much sense of feeling. I felt that his was 
that sort of prayer which my mind had pressed 
after, but that I could not come at it in my own 
will ; only had just tasted of it that time I have 
just mentioned. Now I knew this was true prayer, 
and I mourned sorely that I still kneeled down 
morning after morning, and night after night, but 
had not a word to say. I was exercised with this a 
great time ; I could not go to hear the common 
prayer that was read in the family at nights, nor 
could I kneel down when I went to their worship- 
house. I could but read the Bible, or some other 
book, whilst the priest read common prayer. 

At length I could neither kneel nor stand up to 
join with the priest in prayers before the sermon ; 
neither did I care to hear him preach ; but my mind 
ran after the hearing of the Nonconformist before- 
mentioned. By constraint I went with the family 
in the morning, but could not be kept from going to 
hear the Puritan preacher in the afternoon. I went 
through much suffering to secure this, being forced 
to go on foot two or three miles, and none permitted 
to go with me. However, a servant out of compas- 
sion would sometimes run after me, least I should 
be frightened by going alone. I was very young, 
but so zealous in this, that all their reasonings and 



Dlf^pleasure of friends. 33 

tlireiiteiiings could not keep me back; and in a short 
time I would not go to hear the parish priest at all, 
but went, wet or dry, to the other place. I would 
go in with the family to hear the Scriptures read ; 
but if I did happen to go in before they had done 
the prayers, I would sit while they kneeled. These 
things wrought much trouble in the family, and 
there were none to take my part but two of the 
maid servants, who were inclined to mind what I 
said against the reading of their prayers, and so re- 
fused to join with them in it. This the governors 
of the family were much disturbed at, and they 
made me the subject of their discourse in company, 
saying that I professed to pray with the spirit, but 
rejected godly men's prayers; that I was proud, and 
a schismatic." This was hard enough against a con- 
scientious tender-spirited girl of seventeen ; but we 
must remember how trying it was to her guardians 
to see one so young taking such a stand against 
established forms, and against what they regarded 
and had adopted as the right and truly authorized 
course in family worship. 

When to the above was added the suspicion that 
she went to hear the Puritan preacher, only to obtain 
more liberty to meet with some j^oung men whose 
acquaintance she was not likely to form in the house 
of her guardian, no wonder its injustice hurt her 
much, and that her sense of delicacy was wounded 
to the quick. In the family of Sir Edward Partridge 
she had abundant opportunities of meeting with gay 

3 



J 4 Mental trials. 

company; and a beautiful young heiress as she was, 
with the advantages of wealth and educated taste, 
attracted, as we may well understand, numerous 
suitors; but from the special attentions thus directed 
to her she turned coldly away. Her heart was too 
much absorbed in the great search after truth, and 
longing for spiritual communion with God, to be 
moved by such attentions from any one who was 
not similarly interested. Thus she speaks of her 
feelings at that time : — 

" I minded not those marriages that were pro- 
pounded to me by vain persons, but having desired 
of the Lord that I might have one who feared Him, 
I had a belief, though then I knew none of my own 
outward rank that was such an one, that the Lord 
would provide one for me. In this belief I con- 
tinued, not regai^ding the reproaches of them that 
said to me, no gentleman, none but mean persons 
were of this way, and that I would marry some 
mian one or other. They were disappointed in 
that, for the Lord touched the heart of him who 
Avjis afterwards my husband, and m}^ heart cleaved 
to him for the Lord's sake." This was William 
S})ringott. During the previous seasons of deep 
trial througli which his uncle's ward had been pass- 
ing, William had been at Cambridge pursuing his 
studies there, and afterwards at the Inns of Court 
studying law. As his uncle, Sir Thomas Springett, 
was his guardian, it is probable the nephew had his 
uncle's house as a second home, and had thus been 



Marij Pi'oudes marriage. 35 

entirely removed from the scene of Mary's trials 
when they were most bitterly felt; and it donbtless 
was through the influence of this uncle, who was a 
steady royalist, that William Springett was Ivuighted 
bv the kins;, that honour havinsr been conferred on 
him at a very early age — ^most probably when he 
was a law student and under Sir Thomas Springett's 
immediate care and patronage. 

It seems that as soon as William heard through 
his mother's letters how the case stood with Mary 
Proude, that he lost no time in hastening home, 
deserting all the attractions of London, and forsak- 
ing the law courts, to which he never returned as a 
student. As the object of his most cherished affec- 
tion, he asked Mary to give him the right to protect 
and shield her, to which she consented with all her 
heart; for to hergreat joy she found what she scarcely 
ventured to hope or expect, that his religious feel- 
ings, notwithstanding the adverse society to which 
his London life had been exposed, corresponded 
very nearly with her ov/n. Hence she says, ^^ My 
heart cleaved to him for the Lord's sake." They 
were married a few months after William's return, 
when Mary was about eighteen, and he not jQi 
twenty-one. 

The youthful husband, Vvdth the utmost zeal, 
adopted and carried out i^ae same o])jections to the 
use of forms of prayer and to other Cliurch of Eng- 
land observances which his young wife had done 
previously. She says, speaking of that early time^ 



^6 Sir WiUlain and Lady Springett. 

'- We scrupled many things then in use amongst 
those that Avere counted honest, good people. We 
found that songs of praise with us must spring 
from the same thing as prayer did — the feelings of 
the heart — and so we could not in that day use any 
one's song any more than their prayer." And she 
adds, respecting her husband, " Being so zealous 
against the use of common prayer and super- 
stitious customs, made him a proverb amongst his 
intimates and relations. Indeed, he was so sensible 
of blind superstition concerning what they called 
their churches, that, to show his al^horrence of their 
placing holiness in the house, he would give dis- 
daining* words about their church timber. When 
we had a child, he refused to allow the midwife to 
say her formal prayer, but prayed himself, and 
gave thanks to the Lord in a very sweet and 
melting way; which caused great amazement. He 
never went to the parish church, but went many 
miles to hear Wilson, the minister I before men- 
tioned ; nor would he go to prayers in the house, 
but prayed, morning and evening, with me and 
his servants ; which wrought great discontent in 
the family, whilst we lodged with his uncle. Sir 
Edward Partridge. lie would not let the parish 
priest baptize the child, but, when it was eight 
daj^s old, had it carried in arms to this Wilson, five 
miles distant. There was great seriousness and 
solemnity observed in doing this ; we then looked 
upon it as an ordinance of God. Notes were sent 



Baptism of their infant son. 3-7 

to professing people round about, for more than ten 
miles, to come to seek to the Lord at such a time, 
for a blessing upon his ordinance. No person was 
to hold the child but the father, whom the preacher 
desired to take it as being the fittest person to have 
charge of him. It was a great cross and a new 
business, which caused much gazing and wonder- 
ment for him, a gallant and very young man, in 
the face of so great an assembly to hold the 
child in his arms. He received large charge about 
educating his child, and his duty towards him. 
He was the first person of quality in this country 
that refused the common mode, which he did in his 
zeal against the formality and superstitions of the 
times. 

" He took the Scotch Covenant against all 
23opery and popish innovations, and was in the 
English engagement when the fight was at Edge 
Hill, which happened when his child was about a 
month old. He had a commission sent him to be 
colonel of a regiment of foot, and he raised eight 
hundred men without beat of drum, most of them 
religious professors and professors' sons. There 
were near six score volunteers in his own company; 
himself going a voUinteer, taking no pay. He was 
afterwards made a deputy-lieutenant of the county 
of Kent, in which position he was zealous and 
diligent for the cause. 

" Within a few days after his regiment was 
enrolled, there was a rising in the vale of Kent of 



38 Sir W. SprliKjdt a Parliamentary ojjicer. 

many thousands ; to suppress which, he and his 
newly gathered, undisciplined soldiers were coin- 
manded from their rendezvous at Maidstone. He, 
having placed his men in such order as their inex- 
perience and the time would permit, came to take 
his leave of me before encountering the enemy. 
When he came, he found me in dan2:er of beini}; 
put out of the house in case the enemy proceeded 
so far ; and it put him to great difficulty to provide 
for my safety, and to return to his regiment at the 
time appointed, it being reported Prince Rupert 
was coming over to join the risers. But, being of 
such quick capacity, he soon devised a course that 
effected it ; fetching a stage coach from Rochester 
in the night, he carried me and my child and maid 
to Gravesend ; and there, hiring a barge for us to 
go to London, he took a solemn leave of me, and 
went post to his regiment. When I came to 
London I found the whole city in alarm, nothing 
but noise of drums and trumpets, with the clatter- 
ing of arms, and the loud cry, ^Arm ! arm ! for the 
enemy is near.' This was at the time of that 
bloody fight between the Parliament forces and the 
King's at Hounslow heath. 

" The risers being dispersed in Kent, my 
husband came to London, having behaved very 
approvably in getting restored the cattle and 
horses to the persons that had been plundered by 
the risers, who had taken a great quantity, which, 
on their being dispersed, came into possession of 



Battle of Newbury. 39 

the soldiers. He applied himself to have them all 
restored to those that were oppressed by the 
plunderers, but there were other officers associated 
with him who endeavored to enrich themselves ])y 
retaining them. He afterwards went upon se^^i r.il 
services with his regiment; he was at the taking of 
Lord Craven's house in Surrey, where several of 
his own company of volunteers were of the forlorn 
hope. He was also at the fight at Newbury, 
where he was in imminent danger; a bullet hitting 
him severely, though it had lost its force to enter. 
He lay for some nights on the field in Lord 
Robert's coach ; there being neither time wov 
convenience to pitch his own tent which he had 
with him. For some days he lived on candied citron 
and biscuit. After beins* in several other eno-aire- 
ments, he went back with his regiment into Kent. 
" Not long after he had returned to Kent, his 
own native county, Sussex, was in danger from 
the Cavalier party, which had taken Arundel, and 
fortified the town and castle. Sir William Walker 
was commander-in-chief against them, his assist- 
ance having been sought by the associated counties. 
My husband looked upon this engagement as a 
particular service to his own county, and with great 
freedom went to Arundel, where they had a Ion:;- 
siege before the town. After they had taken it, 
they besieged the castle ; it was very difficult ser- 
vice, but, being taken, he and Colonel Morley had 
the government of the castle connnitted to them. 



40 Fatal UJitcss at Arundd. 

A few weeks after this, the calenture, a disease that 
was then amongst the soldiers of the town and 
castle, seized upon him in his quarters near Arun- 
del ; from wdience, in the depth of frost and snow, 
he sent for me to London to come to him. This 
was ver}^ difficult for me to accomplish, it being a 
short time before the l^irtli of our second child. 
The waters being up at Newington and several other 
places, we were forced to row in a boat on the high- 
way, and take the things out of the coach into the 
boat with us. Springs were fastened to the bridles 
of the horses, and they swam over and brought the 
coach with them. The coachmen were so sensible 
of all the difficulties and the badness of the way 
between London and Arundel, at that time of the 
year, that in all the neighboring streets they 
refused to come with me. Only at length one 
widow woman, who kept a coach for hire, and had 
taken a deal of our money, undertook to let her 
.servant go, even though he should hazard the horses. 
So I gave him a very great price (twelve pounds) 
to carry me down, with liberty to return whether I 
was with him or not, within a day's time. It was a 
very tedious journey ; Ave were benighted, and in 
the dark overthrown into a hedge. When we got 
out, we found there was on the other side hardly 
room to get along, for fear of falling clown a very 
steep precipice, where we would have been all 
broken to pieces. We had no guide with us but he 
who had come to me with the message from my 



Lady Springett goes to tlie camp. 41 

husband, who riding on a white horse, we could see 
him on before. Coming to a garrison late at night, 
we had to stop the coach to give the commander 
notice bj firing a gun, which was done by the sen- 
tinel. The colonel came down immediately to in- 
vite me to stay; and, to encourage me, said my 
husband was likely to mend, beseeching me not in 
my situation to run such a hazard. The coachman, 
being sensible of the difficulties still to be under- 
gone, would needs force me to lodge in the garri- 
son, saying his horses could not hold out. To 
which I replied that I was to pay for all the horses 
if they suffered, and that I was resolved not to go 
out of the coach unless it broke down, until it came 
so near the house that I could compass it on foot. 
So, seeing my resolution, he pushed on. 

" When we came to Arundel we saw a most dis- 
mal sight — the town depopulated — the windows all 
broken from the firing of the great guns — the 
soldiers making use of the shops and lower rooms 
for stables, and no light in the town but what came 
from the stables. We passed through the town on 
to his quarters. Within a quarter of a mile of the 
house the horses came to a standstill. As we could 
not see the reason of it, we sent the guide forward 
for a light and assistance. Upon which the report 
reached my husband that I was come ; but he as- 
sured them they were mistaken, that he knew I 
could not come, in the situation I was in. Still 
they affirmed that I had certainly come. ' Then,' 



42 Progress of the Ulncss, 

said he, 'raise me up in the bed, that I may be able 
to see her when she enters.' But the wheel of the 
coach having pitched close into the root of a tree, 
it was some time before it could be loosened. It 
was twelve o'clock at night vrhen I arrived ; and as 
soon as I put my foot into the hall,, from which 
the stairs ascended to his chamber, I heard liis 
voice saying, ' Why will you lie to me ? If she be 
come, let me hear her voice.' This struck me so, 
that I had not power to get up stairs, but had to be 
helped up by two. On seeing me, the fever having 
taken to his head, he in a manner sprang up as if 
he would come out of the bed, saying, ' Let me em- 
brace thee, my dear, before I die. I am going to 
thy God and to my God.' I found most of his offi- 
cers about the bed attending on him, with signifi- 
cation of great sorrow for the condition he was in, 
they greatly loving him. The j)urple spots had 
come out on him the day before, and now were 
struck in, and the fever had got to his head, which 
caused him to be in bed, they not having before 
been able to persuade him to go to bed, though his 
illness had been for five days before the spots came 
out. Seeing the danger of his condition, and that 
so many Kentish men, both commanders and oth- 
ers, had died of it in a week's time near his quar- 
ters, they entreated him to keep his cham])er. But 
such was the activeness of his spirit, and the stout- 
ness of his heart, that iliey could not get him to 
yield to the illness so as to stay within, till they 



Si?^ W. Springetfs last hours. 43 

covenanted with him that he might shoot birds 
with his crossbow out of the window ; and he did 
do it till tlie spots went in, and the fever got 
to his head. He then became so violent, being 
young and strong, that they were forced to sit 
round the bed to keep him in. To my doctor, 
whom I brought down with me, he spoke seriously 
about dying, and to me most affectionately. To the 
officers who were around the bed striving to keep 
him in, he spoke no evil words; but wittily re- 
marked to the marshal and others about keeping 
up a strict watch, or their prisoner would escape, 
and how they were to repair the breach when he 
thrust his limbs from under the clothes. 

" Discerning my lips to be cool, he would hardly 
suffer me to withdraw them from his burning face 
so as to take breath, crying out, ' Oh, don't go from 
me !' at which the doctor and my maid were very 
much troubled, looking upon the infection to be so 
hiorh that it endangered mv life and the child's. 
Two hours at a time I sat b}^ him thus, and after a 
little pause he called upon me again to lay my 
mouth to his, and that he would be very quiet. At 
length, Avhile I was in that posture, he fell asleep; 
which they that were by observing, constrained me 
to go to bed. Considering my condition, and that I 
might have my maid with him, who could bring me 
an account, I was prevailed with, and went to bed. 
When he awoke he seemed much refreshed, took 
great notice of the servant, and said, ^ You are my 



44 'SiV W. SiJri7igetfs last hours, 

wife's maid. Where is your mistress ? How does 
my boy ? Go to my wife, and tell her I am ready 
to embrace her, I am so refreshed with my sleep.' 
She came and gave me this account, and I would 
have arisen and gone down, but she persuaded me 
not, saying he would go to sleep again, and my 
going would only hinder it. So I sent her with a 
message to him, and went to rest. Thinking from 
the description she gave he was recovering, I lay 
late in the morning. When I went down I saw a 
great change, and sadness upon every face about 
him, which stunned me. He spoke affectionately 
to me, with several serious and weighty expres- 
sions. At last he said, ' Come, my dear, let me kiss 
thee before I die,' which he did with that heartiness 
as if he would have left his breath in me. ' Come 
once more,' said he, ' let me kiss thee, and take my 
leave,' which he did as before, saying, ' No more 
now. No more ever.' He then fell into a great 
agony, and that was a dreadful sight to me. 

" The doctor and my husband's chaplain, and 
some of the chief officers who were by, observing 
his condition, they concluded that they must either 
persuade me, or take me by force from the bed ; 
his great love to me, they said, and his beholding 
me there being the occasion of it. Upon which 
they came and asked me to go from the bedside to 
the fire ; that while I staid where I was he could 
not die. This word die was so great with horror, 
that I, like an astonished, amazed creature, stamped 



His death, 4j 

with my foot, and cried, ' Die ! die ! must lie die ? I 
cannot go from him.' Upon this two of them gently 
lifted me in their arms, and carrying me to the lire, 
which was at a distance from the bed. they pre- 
vented me from going to him again. At that time I 
wept not, but stood silent and struck. After I was 
brought from the bed, he lay for a time very still ; 
at length they said his sight was gone, and then 
they let me go to him. And standing there by his 
bedside I saw on him the most amiable, pleasant 
countenance I ever beheld — just like that of a 
person ravished with something he was looking at. 
He lay about an hour in this condition. Towards 
sunset he turned quickly about, and called uj)on a 
kinsman of his, 'Anthony, come quickly,' at which 
very instant Anthony came riding into the j^ard, 
having come many miles to see him. Soon after 
this he died, and then I could weep ; but, fearing 
injurious consequences, they immediately took me 
up into another chamber, and suffered me no more 
to look at him." 

Sir William Springe tt's remains were next morn- 
ing taken privately by his officers and soldiers to 
Eingmer, and there deposited in the family vaults 
where several of his ancestors lay, intending that 
a public funeral should follow as soon as arrange- 
ments could be made for it in London. But those 
who had the management of his pecuniary affairs, 
discovering that he had expended so much of his 
own private property that was not likely to be re- 



46 Interment at Ringmer CliurcJi. 

funded^ in equipping^ maintaining, and paying the 
soldiers, declared against it. To meet the heavy 
cost for the public service, he had not only mort- 
gaged to a considerable extent his own estates, but 
he had used all the ready money (£1,600) which 
he had got with his wife. So much being thus 
sunk, the executors prudently determined not to 
allow further outlay ; and this deciding the ques- 
tion about the public funeral. Sir William Sprin- 
ge tt's remains were accordingly left to repose at 
Ringmer, in his own native county of Sussex. In 
Eingmer church a handsome mural monument was 
erected to his memory, which is still in perfect 
preservation. 



CHAPTER II. 

1640-1658. 

Sir William Springett's cliaracter. — Change in his religious opinions. — 
Puritan iconoclasts. — Aid to Irish Protestants. — Domestic cha- 
racteristics. — Monument to his memory. — Birth of Gulielma Maria 
Springett. — Her mother's religious feelings about infant baptism. — 
Character of Madam Springett. — Her useful life. — Her medical skill. 
Expenditure of her income. — Herbert Springett. — His monument in 
Ringraer church. — Lady Springett's dissatisfaction with the religion- 
ists around her. — Withdrawal. — Tries fashionable life. — Her retro- 
spect of that period. — Acquaintance with Isaac Penington. — Their 
marriage. — First acquaintance with the Quakers. — William Simpson 
and Thomas Curtis visit the Peningtons. — They are convinced of the 
truth of Quaker doctrines. — Religious joy and comfort. — Establish- 
ment in the truth. 

When dwelling on Sir William Springett's cha- 
racter and religious convictions, his wife mentions 
somj points on which a change had gone forward in 
his mind, from the time when with so much solemnity 
he liad carried his infant son to the baptismal font. 
Having in vain looked for any declaration in the 
New Testament that recommends infant baptism, he 
at length came to the conclusion that it Avas an un- 
authorized rite. Again arose the thought, if infant 
baptism be incorrectly looi^ed on as producing re- 
generation — the being born again — \vithout which, 

47 



48 Sir W. SpruKjetfs relkjloas vleios. 

our Lord declared to Nicodemus, " a man cannot 
enter into the Kingdom of God," then it was not 
merely an uninfluential and unauthorized rite, but, 
by giving a false meaning to Christian regeneration, 
it had become a positive evil. Its tendency and in- 
fluence, leading away from the true meaning of 
scriptural regeneration, had done great harm in 
the church. 

With respect to the sacramental rite of the 
Lord's supper, not having experienced it to bring 
his mind, as he had hoped it would have done, into 
any closer spiritual communion with the Lord, he 
was startled. Striving to discover the cause of this, 
he came at length to the conclusion that there existed 
a wrong construction of our Lord's words, which 
had led to its establishment in the Church as a con- 
gregational religious rite. As he dwelt on this sub- 
ject, carefully examining the texts of Scripture that 
bore on the point, this conviction continued to deepen 
in his mind till he felt constrained to discontinue 
partaking of it. Kespecting his having turned from 
the use of forms of prayer, his wife says, " This turn- 
ing in him proceeded from a glimpse of the dawning 
of the day when prayer is to be offered up in the spi- 
rit and with the understanding ; also that there was 
a spirit of prayer and supplication, in which any one 
who felt it might mentally engage without form, yet 
with true acceptance to God, seems to have been 
made clear to him. " He also saw," she says, " in 
the little measure of light accorded liini, that priests 



Pui-ikiu icojioclasts. 



49 



were not to preach for hire, but were to be sent of 
the Lord to reach the consciences of the hearers. 
This made him dechne false dead ways, and cleave 
ill heart to the people called Puritans (for in that 
day those that heard the Lord were nick-named 
Puritans). Amongst them it was his delight to be 
exercised in the worship of God, and to mingle in 
tiieir chaste conversation," 

Sir William Springett was one of those indomi- 
table soldiers of the Covenant, who, in their zeal 
lor the Lord, brought their energies into action 
against the use of priestly vestments as Avell as 
against Papal idolatry. The Puritanical glasses 
they looked through in that day represented almost 
every work of art as dangerous, that had been 
imported from any country under the Papacy; 
hence much was sacrificed which in another age 
would have been spared. Sir William's wife tells 
us her husband commanded his soldiers to break 
down and destroy every vestige of those objects 
that he regarded as Popish idols, whether crosses, 
statues, pictures, or gold ornaments. It mattered 
not with what exquisite art the marble figure had 
been chiseled, or with what elaborate and successful 
skill the painting represented life, if it depicted or 
attempted to embody fanciful representations of the 
Lord Jesus, of his apostles, or of Romish saints, 
from the fury of the Puritan soldier nothing couid 
shield it. " Be they ever so rich," says Lady Sprin- 
gett, "he destroyed them, and reserved not one for 

4 



its comeliness or costly workmanship." Looking 
back from our stand-point upon that wholesale de- 
struction of works of artistic genius, some of us may 
be more inclined to cry out against the iconoclastic 
furor of our Puritan forefathers, than to commend 
their destructive proceedings. Whatever we may 
think, wives like Lady Springett in that day re- 
garded them as evidences of Christian faithfulness, 
and no doubt they did imply faithfulness to the con- 
scientious views they had adopted. Li Sir Wil- 
liam's crusade against idolatry there was not only 
true conscientious earnestness, but a commendable 
impartiality — not saving what was his friend's pro- 
perty and destroying his enemy's; as is manifested 
by the following statement from his wife : — "I find 
freedom," she says, "to mention one passage in 
tliis pursuit of destroying Popish relics and pic- 
tures. There was a Parliament-man who was also 
a deputy-lieutenant of the county, a great stirrer in 
the Parliament cause, and his wife a zealous Puritan. 
This man was assisting him (Sir William) and was 
his companion in the searching of Popish houses, 
and in destroying their pictures and trumpery. 
Going one day to their house to visit them, as he 
passed through the hall, he spied several sujDcrsti- 
tious pictures, as of the crucifixion of Christ, his 
resurrection, and such like; very large pictures they 
were, and a great ornament to the hall. They had 
been moved out of the parlour to manifest neglect. 
lie, looking upon it as a very unequal thing to de- 



sir Will lam Springetfs integrity. 51 

stroy such things in Popish houses, and have them 
in those of their opposers, drew out his sword, and 
cut them all out of their frames, and, spearing them 
on the sword's point, he went into the parlour with 
them. The mistress of the house being there, he 
said to her, ' What a shame that thy husband should 
bo so zealous a prosecutor of Papists, and spare 
such things in his own house! But,' saith he, ^thou 
seest I have acted impartially, and have destroyed 
them here also.'" 

His wife says, and no doubt she had good reason 
to say it, that he was just and merciful in doing the 
work which as a soldier he had to do, never in any 
case converting confiscated property or sequestered 
estates to his own use. She adds, "He even re- 
fused to buy any goods that were plundered from 
the enemy ; nor ever made any use of one pound's 
worth, I dare aver, that belonged to them who were 
conquered. He had very great offers from persons 
in power, of houses and goods both in London and 
elsewhere, of those called delinquents ; all which he 
refused, and rather chose, whilst his family was with 
him in the city, to pay twenty shillings a week for 
lodgings than touch any of them. One consider- 
able place offered him was Leeds Castle in Kent. 
It was seized by the Parliament party, and made a 
go.rrison, and he was intended to be the commander 
of it, and greatly pressed to make use of the goods 
and furniture, and have his family live in the Castle, 
but he refused it. Another house offered him was 



^2 His compassionate dispositi 



on. 



Hollingborn, whicli was very well furnished, and 
within a few miles of Leeds Castle ; but he refused 
it also, giving them an answer to this effect, that he 
durst not make use of any man's estate or goods, 
nor dwell in any man's sequestered house, much 
less this, which was his uncle Sir Thomas Culpep- 
per's. His mind throughout life was ever for the 
exercise of compassion and charitableness, of which 
there have been many instances given me by per- 
sons who have observed him in the places where he 
was quartered, beside what I have seen myself, and 
I had converse with him from the time he was 
twelve years old to his dying day. One instance 
I shall mention that I had from the Mayor of Maid- 
stone, in Kent. He brought me a bill for three 
pounds after his death, with my husband's hand to 
it, telling me that as he was walking in the street 
with him, a poor man was had to prison, who made 
miserable moan ; whereat Sir William stopped the 
bailiff, and asked what they were taking him to pri- 
son for? He answered, for debt. He replied, 'You 
shall not carry him there. Mr. Maj^or, lay you 
down the money, and I will see it discharged.' 

"He was very generous to the Irish Protestants 
w^lio came over after the massacre in Ireland ; also 
to the plundered ministers and maimed soldiers 
that were wounded in the army. He rarely gave 
less than a twenty-shilling piece at the private fasts 
where these sufferings were presented before him, 
and that was constantly once and sometimes twice a 



Hid (jciiej-Q-stiij. r-^ 

week. 1 shall mention a remarkable instance of his 
charity for the sufferers in Ireland. We were at a 
fast at Milk-street in London, where Thomas Case, 
a Puritan preacher, set forth the great distress the 
Irish Protestants were in, and the need they stood 
in of assistance to get over to England. He related 
it so affectingly that it pierced my husband greatly, 
and as he was taking down the sermon after him, 
he felt an engagement in his mind to give twenty 
pounds" — a sum in that day probably equal to a 
hundred pounds at the present time — " Afterwards 
he considered that, as this was determined when he 
was warmed with a clear sense of their misery, and 
as he grew cooler that he might change, where- 
upon he took his notebook, and wrote in it a 
solemn engagement before the Lord to perform it 
when he came home. When all was over, there 
was appointed at the door two men of quality to 
stand with basins, to receive the collections for the 
Irish Protestants ; and some others that were 
officers were appointed to receive for the maimed 
soldiers. My husband, as he passed out, put in 
five pieces of gold to the Irish, and one piece into 
the other basin ; and said nothing to me about it 
till we came to our lodgings ; then he refused to 
sup, but went up to writing. After some time he 
called me to fetch him fifteen pounds in a bag. 
When I broughft it, he then spoke to me to this pur- 
pose : — ^ Now that I have made sure of the thing, I 
will acquaint thee what it is to do ;' so he told me 



54 Z^/'''' (^(^tncdlc (joodncsfi 

the business, and read to nie the engagement in lils 
book, and the letter he had written to Thomas 
Case, giving him an account how it was, but not 
setting liis name to it ; declaring that he had given 
it to the Lord, and desired to remain unknown. 
The footboy was sent away with the letter and 
money sealed up, with the order to turn his coat 
before he came in sight of the place, that they 
could not see what livery he wore, and on deliver- 
ing the money and letter into his hands for whom 
they were sent, not to stay to bi^ asked any ques- 
tions. 

" He was most affectionately tender to me and 
his child — beyond what I had known in any, con- 
sidering his youth. I do not remember that he 
ever let an opportunity slip of acquainting me with 
his condition when absent. He hath often writ 
letters when he baited, on purpose to send to me 
by travellers that he might meet on the road. 
After the battle of Newbury he gave the messen- 
ger he was sending to the Parliament to acquaii\t 
them with the issue of the battle, a piece, only to 
l:uock at the door of my lodgings in Blackfriars. 
and leave word that he saw him well after the 
battle — there being time for no more ; which mes- 
sage in all probability saved my life — I being then 
sick of the measles, Avhicli could not come out 
because of the exercise of my mind by reason of 
]ay having heard of the battle. The message was 
left between three and four o'clock in the morning ; 



at the hearing of which the oppression was rolled 
off my spirits, like the removal of a great stone, 
and the measles came forth. 

" I must add that, in addition to such gentleness, 
sweetness, compassion, affableness, and courtesy, 
thy grandfather had a courage that was without 
harshness or cruelty; and an undaunted spirit 
such as was rarely found with the forementioned 
excellencies. He was also very hospitable ; his 
generous mind delighted in entertaining those that 
were engaged in the cause with him, — not in 
excess, but w^ith great freedom and heartiness, 
always seasoned with savoury and edifying dis- 
course, — making mention of the Lord's gracious 
dealings with them." 

Thus closes Mary Penington's retrospective de- 
scription of the husband of her youth, in the letter 
she addressed to her grandson, Springett Penn. 
As a true and altogether reliable, unadorned his- 
tory, it constitutes, I think, one of the finest and 
most touching descriptions of a noble gallant }'oung 
Puritan soldier which the seventeenth century has 
bequeathed to us. The men of Sussex might well 
be proud of him as a native of their county, and 
doubtless they would be so if they only understood 
his character. But, during the lapse of ages, one 
generation dying out, and another coming in, each 
cherishing its own favorites for the time being, 
ti'ue and accurate knowledge of the good and the 
noble son.\< of ]>:i:t centiirie;^ is lialjle to be for- 



^6 Mural monument. 

G-otteii even in their native place. And, were it not 
for some favourable circumstances, this history of 
Sir William Springett's short life would have been 
lost like many another. His wife's most tender 
and graphic description, addressed to his daughter 
and to his granSlson, and the careful preservation 
of her letters among the Friends, brings him now 
before us in life-like colours after the lapse of so 
many ages. Probably few in Sussex at this day 
know aught about him, save what the mural tablet 
in the church of Ringmer sets forth. The inscrip- 
tion on the monument in question is as follows : — 

Here Ijctli the body of 

SIR WILLIAM SPRINGETT, KNT., 

Eldest son and heir of Herbert kSpringett of Sussex, 

Who married Mary Proude, the only daughter and heir of 

Sir John Proude, Knt., Colonel in the service of the United Provinces, 

And of Anne Fagge, his -wife, of the co-heirs of Edward Fagge 

of Ewell, near Feversham, in the County of Kent, Esq. 

He had issue by Mary, his wife, one sonne, John Springett, and one 
daughter, Guliolma Maria Posthuma Springett. 

He, being Colonel in the service of the Parliament at tlie taking of 

Arundel Castle in Sussex, there contracted a sickness of 

wliicli he died February the 3d. Anno Domini 

1643, being 23 years of age. 

His wife, in testimony of her do;ir affection to him, hath erected 
tiiis monument to liis memory. 

A few weeks after the death of Sir William 
Springett, the ])ereaved widow was roused from the 
depth of her desolation and sorrow, by her ma- 
ternal feeliirrs on the birth of an infant dauditcr. 



Birth of Gidlehna Maria Sprliigett. 57 

This was Gulielma Maria, above mentioned/'' Her 
Heavenly Father had in this darling child sent an- 
other claim on her affections, another tie binding 
her to life, and her energy arose to meet snrronnd- 
ins: circumstances. In the name Gulielma Maria 
given to the infant, those of both parents were 
united. Her mother-in-law, now tlie chief earthly 
friend left to the young widow, came to reside with 
her, and she remained there during the residue of 
her life, which only lasted about four jcars after 
the death of her son William. 

Lady Springett had adopted the same views 
which her husband had arrived at, respecting the 
unscriptural character of infant baptism, and the 
injury that had resulted to Christian life from the 
popular construction put on water-baptism. She 
therefore refused to allow her little dau2:hter to be 
baptised. When reflecting on the rite of baptism, 
as practised in the Church, the declaration of the 
Apostle relative to another ritual observance, which 
was abolished under the new dispensation, was so 
continually in her mind as a case in point, that she 
could in no degree yield to the entreaties of her 
friends and relatives. It was very trying to main- 
tain her ground against all their persuasion ; but 
hard above all it must have been to stand out 
against the expressed desire of her loved and honor- 



^■- A.-^ Ffhriinvn, old style, was- the la?t month of the year, it inny be 
presumed Gulielma was boru in It) J 4, but we have no exact record oi' the 
(late. 



^1 La(hj Sprlicjcifs oplnioits 

ed iiiotlier-in-law ; nevertlielcss, singlehancled and 
consciGiitious, she withstood all who endeavoured 
to persuade her to have her child formally baptised. 
She says, "That scripture in the last of the Gala- 
tians, of circumcision or uncircumcision availing no- 
thing, but a new creature, was so often in my mind, 
that I could not but resolve that it [the baptismal 
rite] should not be performed. This brought great 
reproach on me, and made me as a byword among 
the people of my own rank in the world, and a 
strange thing it was thought to be by my relatives 
and acquaintance. Those who were accounted able 
ministers, and such as I formerlj' delighted to hear, 
were sent to persuade me ; but I could not do it 
and be clear. My answer to them was, ' lie tha.t 
doubts is damned if he do it." She did doubt, and 
she believed that she had good reason to doubt of 
infant baptism being an institution authorized by 
Jesus, and therefore the little Gulielma Maria was 
never taken to the baptismal font. 

Il seems marvellous of two such young persons, 
and yet it does really appear as if Sir William 
Springett and his wife were at that time, when 
these views became fixed in their minds, standing 
totally (done wlien declining to receive the popular 
idea of water baptism, as being the essential baptism 
which accompanies regeneration and salvation. It 
is very certain that Mary Penington says nothing 
about [laving studied any writings on the question, 
save those of the New Testaiijcnl: or of ha\'in^' anv 



on water hiptlsm. ^^ 

example before her of any one who altogether 
on scriptural grounds disapproved of the rite as 
practised in the Churches, except her deceased 
husband. It does not appear that the views ad- 
vocated by them were the same as those held by 
the Baptists, who, though disapproving of infant 
baptism, insist on adult water baptism as essential, 
and as that which was commanded by Christ. 
George Fox did not commence his ministry for 
several years after the death of Sir William Sprin- 
ge tt ; it was not therefore from the Friends' ideas 
they had been brought to that conclusion. But 
it is true that about the time of Guli's birth and 
after it, there was a minister who held an official 
place in the University of Cambridge, who en- 
tertained very decided convictions against the no- 
tions of water baptism which prevailed in the 
Church of England, of which he was a member. 
This was William Dell, Master of Gonville and 
Caius College, Cambridge. How far he had suffi- 
cient Christian faithfulness to preach in that perse- 
cuting age the views he set forth in his writings, 
which were afterwards published, I know not. lie 
seemed to have but little hope of the age he lived 
in taking a right scriptural view of the doctrines in 
question, because he says it was "so rooted and 
built up in the doctrines of men." Hence he ap- 
pealed to and wrote especially for the next gene- 
ration. So flir as I can ascertain, his excellent 
work on The Dortruic of tlie Baptlsriis was not pub- 



6o Madam Springett 

lislied for eight or ten years after the period in 
question ; and in his preface to the reader, intro- 
ducing the work On Baptisins, he warns him that 
he would " speak much otherwise than all former 
or later writers whatever, that he had met with." 

Within the four years which elaj)sed from the 
death of Sir William Springett to that of Madam 
Springett, John, his first-born child and only son, 
seems to have also died, though the child's mother 
has left us no specific account of the event. Cir- 
cumstances indicate that it was within that time 
his brief life closed. 

Of her mother-in-law's high moral worth and 
great ability and usefulness, Mary Penington gives 
her grandson a beautiful account. Speaking of 
both great-grandparents she says, " Thy dear mo- 
ther's father was of religious parents ; his father 
(thy great-grandfather) though a lawyer, was re- 
ligious and strict, as I have heard of him, in those 
things wherein the ministration of that time con- 
sisted, and in the exercise of what in that day of 
dim light was accounted holy duties. He died of 
consumption, leaving thy great-grandmother with 
two sons and a daughter [born after her father's 
death] . She was married to him about three or four 
years, and left a widow about twenty-two years 
of age. She was an excellent woman; and had a 
great regard to the well-being of her children, both 
in the inward and outward condition; and that she 
might the better bring them up, she lived a retired 



Her cJiaracter. 6i 

life ; refusing all other marriage, though frequently 
offered, as I have heard her say. She suffered 
pretty liard things of his two executors, his brother 
8h^ Thomas Springett, and a brother-in-law ; who 
tliought that she, being so very young a widow, 
would marry again. Through their jealousy on 
this point, they refused her the management of the 
education of her children, and put her upon suing 
them for it; which she at last obtained, with 
charges, after some years' suit. 

" She lived a virtuous life, — constant in morning 
and evening prayer by herself, and often with her 
children ; causing them to repeat to her what they 
remembered of sermons they had heard, and of 
scriptures. I lived in the house with her from nine 
years of age, till after I was married to her son ; 
and after he died, she came and lived with me, and 
died at my house. In all which time I never, as I 
remember, heard her say an improper word, or saw 
her do an evil action. She spent her time very in- 
geniously; and in a bountiful manner bestowed 
great part of her jointure yearly upon the poor, in 
providing physic and surgery. She had a yearly 
jointure of about tvv^elve score pounds, and with it 
she kept a brace of horses, a man, and a maid. She 
boarded with her only brother. Sir Edward Par- 
tridge. She kept several poor women constantly 
emplo}' ed simpling for her in the summer ; and in 
the winter preparing such things as she had use for 
in physic, and surgery, and for ej^es; she having 



62 Ilfv medical and svnjhxd ji;r«c//ce 

eminent judgment in all three, and admirable suc- 
cess ; which made her famous and sought to out 
of several counties by the greatest persons, as well 
as by the low ones. She was daily employing her 
servants in making oils, salves, and balsams ; draw- 
ing of spirits ; distilling of waters ; making of 
syrups and conserves of many kinds, w^ith pills and 
lozenges. She was so rare in her ability in taking 
off cataracts and spots on eyes, that Hopkins, the 
great oculist, sent many to her house when there 
was difficulty of cure, and that he could not attend 
or spare so much time as was necessary to compass 
it. She cured many burns and desperate cuts ; 
also dangerous sores that came by thorns ; likewise 
broken limbs ; many afflicted with the king's evil ; 
taking out bones. One case of great difficulty I 
especially remember — a child's head that was so 
burnt that its skull was like a coal ; she brought it 
to have skin and hair again, and invented a thin 
pan of beaten silver covered with bladder to pre- 
serve the head in case of a knock or a fall. She 
frequently helped in consumptions cases beyond 
the skill of doctors to help, through her diligence 
and care. 

" In the villages about her lodged several par- 
tients, that had come there some hundreds of miles 
to be under her care ; and sometimes would remain 
there, away from their homes, for a quarter of a 
year at a time. She has sometimes had twenty 
persons in a morning — men, Avomen, and children 



and reH-jlofiH coiidact. 6^ 

—to o.ttend to. I have heard her say she spent half 
her revenue in making the medicines which she 
needed for these cures. She never«would take pre- 
sents of much vahie from any one ; only this she 
would do — if the patients were able, she gave them 
a note of what things they could buy, and they 
brought them to her, and she made up the medi- 
cine for them ; her man-servant writing the direc- 
tions she gave, and packing up the salves and 
medicines. 

" In the place where she dwelt she was called in 
her religion, of latter times, a Puritan ; afterwards 
she was called an Independent. She had an Inde- 
pendent minister in her house, and gave liberty to 
people to come there twice a week to hear him 
preach. She constantly set apart the Seventh-day, 
about three or four o'clock in the afternoon, for her 
family to leave all their occasions, and this minister 
preached or prayed with them as a preparation for 
the morrow. She v/as a most tender and affection- 
ate mother to thy grandfather, and greatly de- 
lighted in his love to me, and always shewed great 
kindness to me. Indeed, she was very honourable 
in counselling her son not to marry for an estate, 
nr_>:ing him to consider what would make him 
hiippy in his choice ['many great offers' having 
been made to draw him into marriage alliance]. 
►S!ie would discourse to him in this wise, that she 
knew me, and we were known to one another, and 
said she w^ould choose me for his wile if I had no 



64 Ilerhert Sprlngett. 

portion. She lived to see thy mother three or four 
years old, and was very affectionate to her, and 
took great delight in seeing her wisdom." Thus 
closes her daughter-in-law's account of that admi- 
rable Puritan matron. 

Her husband Herbert Springett, barrister-a1>law, 
who died in 1621, was at his death, as is stated on 
the mural monument to his memory in Ringmer 
church, 

In the sixtie and sixe year of his age. 
A friend to virtue, a lover of learning, 
Of prudence great, of justice a furtherer. 
Redress he did the wrongs of many a wight. 
Fatherless and widdows by him possess their right. 
To search into each cause, and thus end all strife, 
With patience great he spent his mortal life. 

Mary Penington describes her own religious feel- 
ings as being at this time in a very unsatisfied 
state. She says she changed her ways often, going 
from one notion to another. In fact, she went the 
whole round of the popular sects of that day; 
heard their preachers on all occasions; made the 
acquaintance of high religious professors ; attended 
their lectures, their fasts, their thanksgivings, their 
prayer meetings ; watched their private walk in life, 
and noticed the position they took in the world. 
Instead of meeting with the spiritual instruction 
and seeing the realization of the Christian life of 
which she had been in quest, she turned away 
heartsick, under the impression of a prevading 
empty show that had assumed the name of religion. 



ReligiouH difficulties. 65 

At length she made up her mind to abandon all 
outward forms of religious worship, and to hold 
herself unconnected with any section of Christians, 
relying on the ultimate fulfilment of the promise 
of the Lord, ^'Blessed are they that hunger and 
thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled." 

Having found no abiding comfort amid religious 
professors, she at length determined to try the gay 
world. She says, " I then had my conversation 
much among people of no religion, being ashamed 
to be (counted religious, or to do any thing that was 
called religious ; • and I began to loathe whatever 
profession of that sort any one made, holding the 
professors of every sort worse than the profane, 
they boasted so much of what I knew they had not 
attained ; I having been zealous in whatever they 
pretended to, yet could not find purging of heart, 
nor an answer from the Lord of acceptation. In 
this restless state I let in every sort of notion that 
rose in that day, and for a time applied myself to 
examine them, and get out of them whatever good 
could be found ; but still sorrow and trouble was 
the end of all. I was at length ready to conclude 
that though the Lord and His Truth were certain, 
^yet that they are not now made known to any 
upon earth ; and I determined no more to enquire 
or look after God, for that it was in vain to seek 
him. vlo for some time I took no notice of any 
religion, but minded recreation, as it is called ; and 
went after it into many excesses and vanities — as 
5 



66 Superficial cliaracter of 

foolish mirth, carding, dancing, and singing. I 
frequented music assemblies, and made vain visits 
where there were jovial feastings. I delighted in 
curiosities, and in what would please the vain mind, 
and satisfy the lust of the eye and the pride of life ; 
frequenting places of pleasure, where vainly dressed 
persons resorted to show themselves and to see 
others in the like excess of folly ; and riding about 
from place to place in an airy mind. But in the 
midst of all this my heart was often sad and pained 
bej'ond expression." 

After a round of such fashionable recreations 
as above specified, she tells us that, taking with 
her none but little Guli and her maid, she would 
often in disgust forsake for a time city life, and 
seek entire seclusion in the country, where she 
would give way to her feelings of distress. She 
say>^;, '^ I was not hurried into those follies by being 
c;4)tlvated by them, but from not having found in 
rCiigion what I had sought and longed after. I 
would often say within myself, what are they all to 
me ? 1 could easily leave all this ; for it hath not my 
heart, it is not my delight, it hath not power over 
me. I had rather serve the Lord, if I could indeed 
feel and know that wdiich would be acceptable to 
Ilim. One night in my country retirement I went 
to bed very sad and disconsolate ; and that night I 
dreamed I saw a book of hieroglyphics of religion 
respecting things to come in the Church, or reli- 
gious state. I dreamed that I took no delight at 



Fa.sMonahle amusements. 6j 

all in them ; and felt no closing of my mind with 
them, but turned away greatly oppressed. It being 
evening, I went out from the company into the 
open air, and lifting up mine eyes to the heavens I 
cried out, ' Lord, suffer me no more to fall in with 
any false way, but show me the truth.' Immedi- 
ately I thought the sky opened, and a bright light 
like fire fell upon my hand, which so frightened 
me that I awoke, and cried out. When my daugh- 
ter's maid (who was in the chamber) came to the 
bed-side to see what was the matter with me, I 
trembled a great time after I was awakened." 

Her mind having fully realized the superficial 
and unsatisfying character of the fashionable amuse- 
ments of the gay world, her thoughts again and 
again turned to the religious feelings of former 
days. She still clung to the belief that though she 
had run into vanity, she was yet under her heavenly 
Father's care, and that He who had made the bless- 
ed promise to that state, knew of the hungering and 
thirsting after righteousness which often had such 
possession of her mind. But above all things she 
abhorred hypocrisy and religious presumption in 
any one, and therefore she often distrusted herself, 
and these feelings. She could not for a long time 
entertain the idea that it was the Holy Spirit v>diich 
was giving her these gleams of light and trust, and 
tendering her heart in prayerful feeling towards 
God. Thus she details circumstances that unfold 
her state of mind : — 



68 Unsatisfied religious asjji rations. 

" One day, when going through the city from a 
country-house, I could not make my way through 
the crowd that filled the street (it being the day 
whereon the Lord Mayor was sworn) but was forced 
to 2fo into a house till it was over. Beinsr burdened 
by the vanity of their show, I said to a professor 
that stood by me, ' What benefit have we now by 
all the blood that has been shed, and by Charles 
being kept out of the nation, seeing all these follies 
are again allowed ?' He answered, none that he 
knew of, save the enjoyment of their religion. To 
which I replied, ' That is a benefit to you who have 
a religion to be protected in the exercise of, but it 
is none to me.' " Looking back on that period, 
when she would not allow to herself that she had 
any religion at all, she says it was wonderful to her 
to remember how she, notwithstanding, confided in 
the goodness and care of God. " That help I fre- 
quently had from Him whilst in the most confused 
and disquieted state I ever knew. Trust in the Lord 
was richly given me in that day when I durst not 
own myself to have any religion I could call true; 
for if I were but taking a servant, or doing any 
outward thing tiiat much concerned my condition 
in the world, I never feared, but retired, waiting 
to see what the day would bring forth, and as 
things were offered to me closed with them, if I 
felt my heart answered thereto." At this very time 
she says, " In anguish of spirit I could but cry to 
the Lord, ' If I may not come to thee as a child, 



Marriage vntli Isaac Penington. 69 

because I have not the spirit of sonship, yet thou art 
my Creator ; and as thy creature I cannot breathe 
or move without thee. Help is only to be had from 
thee. If thou art inaccessible in thy own glory, 
and I can only get help where it is to be had, and 
thou only hast power to help me, what am I to do ?' 

" Oh ! the distress I felt in this time, having never 
dared to kneel down, as formally going to prayer, 
for years, because I feared I could not call God 
Father in truth; and I durst not mock Him as 
with a form. Sometimes I w^ould be melted into 
tears, and feel an inexpressible tenderness ; but not 
knowing what it was from, and being ready to 
misjudge all religion, I thought it was some influ- 
ence from the planets which governed this body. 
But I durst not regard any thing in me . being of 
or from God ; or that I felt any influence of His 
spirit on my heart. I was like the parched heath 
for want of rain, and like the hunted hart longing 
for water, so great was my thirst after that which 
I did not know was near. 

" In the condition I have mentioned, of weary 
seeking and not finding, I married my dear hus- 
band Isaac Penington. My love was drawn to him 
because I found he saw the deceit of all mere no- 
tions about religion ; he lay as one that refused to 
be comforted until He came to His temple ' who 
is truth and no lie.' All things that had only the 
appearance of religion were very manifest to him, so 
that he was sick and weary of show, and in this my 



70 Hears of flte Quakers. 

heart united with him, and a desire was in me to be 
serviceable to him in this his desolate condition ; 
for he was as one alone, and felt miserable in the 
world. I gave up much to be a companion to him. 
And, oh ! the secret groans and cries that were 
raised in me, that I might be visited of the Lord, 
and brought to a clear knowdedge of his truth and 
way ; that my feet might be turned into that way 
before I went hence, even if I never should take 
one step in it that would bring joy or peace ; yet 
that I might assuredly know myself to be in it, 
even if my time were spent in sorrow. 

'- 1 resolved never to go back into those formal 
things I had left, having found death and darkness 
in them ; but would rather be without a religion 
until the Lord manifestly taught me one. Many 
times, when alone, did I reason thus : — ^ Why 
should I not know the way of Divine life ? For if 
the Lord would give me all in this world, it would 
not satisfy me.' ' Nay,' I could cry out, ' I care not 
for a portion in this life : give it to those that care 
for it : I am miserable with it. It is acceptance 
with God, of which I once had a sense, that I de- 
sire, and that alone can satisfy me.' 

" Whilst I was in this state, I heard of a new peo- 
ple called Quakers, but I resolved not to inquire after 
them nor the principles they held. For a year or 
more after I had heard of them in the nortli, I heard 
nothing of their ways except that they used thee and 
thctu to every one ; and I saw a book written about 



Impressed hij ilieir teacldncj. 7: 

plain language by George Fox, which I remember I 
thought very ridiculous ; so gave no attention eitlior 
to the people or the book, except it were to scofF at 
them and it. Though I thus despised this people, I 
had sometimes a desire to attend one of their meet- 
ings, if I could go unknown, and hear them pray. 
I was quite weary of hearing doctrines discu.ssed, 
but I believed if I were with them when they 
prayed, I would be able to feel whether they were 
of the Lord or not. I endeavoured to stilie this 
desire, not knowing how to get to one of their 
meetings unknown; and if it should be known, I 
thought it would be reported that I had joined 
them." An opportunity for acquaintance with the 
" Friends of Truth" by and by presented itself 
unsought for, as Mary Penington thus states : — 

" One day, as my husband and I were walking 
in a park, a man that for a little time had frequented 
the Quakers' meetings saw us as he rode by, in our 
gay vain apparel. He spoke to us about our pride, 
at which I scoffed, saying, ' He a public preacher 
indeed ! — preaching on the highways !' He turned 
back again, saying he had a love for my husband, 
seeing grace in his looks. He drew nigh to the 
pales, and spoke of the light and grace of God 
that had appeared to all men. My husband and 
he having engaged in discourse, the man of the 
house coming up invited the stranger in. He was 
but young, and perceiving my husband was too able 
for him in the fleshly wisdom, said he would briii^ 



ya Rcll(jlons exercises and 

a man next day who would better answer all liia 
questions and objections ; who, as I afterwards un- 
derstood, was George Fox. He came again the 
next day, and left word that the Friend, he intended 
to bring could not well come ; but some others he 
believed would be with us about the second hour ; 
at which time came Thomas Curtis and William 
Simpson. My mind had been somewhat affected 
by the discourse of the night before ; and though I 
thought the man weak in the management of the 
arguments he brought forward to support his prin- 
ciples, yet many scriptures which he mentioned 
stuck with me, and felt very weighty. They were 
such as showed me the vanity of many of my 
practices ; which made me very serious, and soberly 
inclined to hear and consider what these other men 
had to say. Their solid and weighty carriage 
struck a dread over me, for they came in the 
authority and power of the Lord to visit us. The 
Lord was with them, and all we who were in the 
room were made sensible at that time of the Divine 
power manifestly accompanying what they said. 
Thomas Curtis repeated a scripture that struck out 
all my enquiries and objections, ' The doctrine is 
not mine, but His that sent me. If any man will 
do His will he shall know of the doctrine, whether 
it be of God, or whether I speak of myself.' Ln- 
mediately it arose in my mind, if I would for cer- 
tain know whether or not it was truth which these 
people upheld, I must do what I knew to be the 



Mental struggles. 73 

Lord's will. Much that was contrary thereto in nio 
was set before me to be removed. I w^as shown 
my want of obedience to what Christ required ; and 
that I must join in with what I knew, before I 
would be in a capacity to receive and understand 
what they laid down for their principles." 

The effect upon Mary Penington's mind of this ap- 
plication of the text quoted by Thomas Curtis, was 
not of a transient character. Such of her practices 
as were contrary to the teaching and commands of 
the Lord Jesus were brought in review before her 
by the Holy Spirit, now at work in her heart. The 
axe being unsparingly brought down on the root 
of the evil that was within, much painful exercise 
succeeded. She says : — " Terrible was the Lord 
against the vain and evil inclinations in me, which 
made me night and day in sorrow ; and if it did 
cease a little, then I grieved for fear I should again 
be reconciled to the things which I felt under 
judgment, and which I had then a just detestation 
of Oil ! how I did long not to be left secure or 
quiet till the evil was done away ! How often did 
this run through my mind, ' Ye will not come to 
me, that ye may have life.' It is true I am undone 
if I come not to thee, but I cannot come unless 
I leave that which cleaveth close unto me, and how 
can I part with it? I saw the Lord would be just 
in casting me off, and not giving me [divine] 
life, if I would not come from my beloved lusts 
to Him for that life. I never had peace or quiet 



"74 TaldiKj vp iJw Crocs, 

from sore exercise of mind for many montlis, till I 
was by the Lord's judgments brought off from ail 
those things whicli I found His light made manifest 
to be deceit, bondage, vanity, and the spirit of the 
world. The giving up of these things cost me 
many tears. I felt that by the world I w^ould be 
regarded as a fool, and tha^t my honourable posi- 
tion must be sacrificed if I took up the cross, and 
acted contrary to the fashions and customs that 
prevailed in the world and among my acquaint- 
ances. My relations made this cross a very heavy 
one; but at length I gave up all." 

During the mental struggles above alluded to, 
Mary Penington does not appear to have sought 
or maintained any intimate acquaintance with the 
Friends, or to have made a practice of attending 
their meetings; but it is most probable she had 
been reading some of their writings. She states, 
" A little while after the visit of the Friends before 
mentioned, one night on my bed it was said to me, 
' Be not hasty to join these people called Quakers.'" 
And after she had given up all her VN^orldly reason- 
ing against the pointing of her own enlightened 
conscience, she adds, " I then received strength to 
attend the meetings of this despised people, which 
I had intended never to meddle with. I found they 
were truly of the Lord, and my heart owned them 
and honoured them. 1 then longed to be one of 
them, and minded not the cost or pain; but judged 
it would be well worth my utmost cost and pains 



Love and acceptance. y^ 

to witness in myself such a change as I saw in them 
— such power over the evil of human nature. I 
had heard it objected against them, that they could 
work no miracles, but I said they did work great 
miracles, in that they produced such changes, 
turning them that were in the world and in the 
fellowship of it from worldly things. 

" In taking up the cross, I received strength 
against many things that I once thought it not 
possible to deny myself. But oh ! the joy that 
filled my soul at the first meeting held in our 
habitation at Chalfont. To this day I have a fresh 
remembrance of it, and of the sense the Lord gave 
me of His presence and ability to worship Him in 
that spirit which was undoubtedly His own. Oh ! 
long had I desired to worship Him in the full 
assurance of acceptation, and to lift up my hands 
and heart without doubting, which I experienced 
that day. In that assembly I acknowledged His 
great mercy and wonderful kindness, for I could 
then say, ' This is what I have longed and waited 
for, and feared I never should have experienced.' 

" Many trials have I been exercised with since 
then; and all that came by the Lord's ordering 
strengthened my life in Him, and hurt me not. 
But once my mind running out in prejudice against 
some Friends, it did sorely hurt me. After a time 
of deep and unknown sorrow the Lord removed 
the prejudice, and gave me a clearness of sight 
and love and acceptance with His beloved ones. 



76 Watch and pray. 

The Lord hath many a time refreshed my soul 
with His presence, and given me an assurance 
that I knew that state which He will never leave 
nor suffer me to be drawn from. Though infirmi- 
ties beset me, my heart cleaveth to the Lord, in the 
everlasting bond that cannot be broken. Whilst I 
see and feel these infirmities, I also feel that faith 
in Him which gives the victory, and keeps me low 
under a sense of my own weakness. By that grace 
which is sufficient, I feel and know where my 
strength lieth; so that when I have slipped in 
word or thought, I have recourse to my Advocate, 
and feel pardon and healing, and a going on to 
overcome in watching against that which easily 
besets me. I do believe the enemy cannot prevail, 
though he is suffered to prove me, that I may have 
my dependence fixed on the Lord; and be kept on 
the watch continually, knowing that the Lord 
alone can make successful war against the dragon. 
I am thus instructed, by the discovery of my own 
weaknesses, to be tender towards those who also 
are tempted, and taught to watch and pray against 
temptation. Sweet is this state, though low; for 
in it I receive my daily bread, and enjoy that 
which the Lord handeth forth continually." 



CHAPTER III. 

1658-1661. 

The Elhvoods' visit to the Peningtons at Chalfont. — Their impressions 
of their Quaker friends. — James Nayler and Edward Burrough at the 
Grange. — Discussion on the doctrine of election. — Isaac Penington's 
account of his early religious feelings and views. — His later spiritual 
experience. — Letters to his father, the Alderman. — Alderman Pening- 
ton's impeachment as a regicide. — Charles the Second's declaration 
from Breda. — Alderman Penington's condemnation. — Imprisonment 
in the Tower and confiscation of his estates. — Sir John Robinson's 
cruelty. — Alderma?i Penington's death, 

Mary Penington's narrative brought us in 
the last chapter to the point from which we first 
started — 1658 — four years after her marriage with 
Isaac Penington. Their family at that time con- 
sisted of three other children besides Gulielma 
Maria Springett, then- in the fifteenth year of her 
age, a lovely, graceful girl, the delight of her flxmily 
and friends. 

Thomas Ellwood gives us a peep into the home 
of the Peningtons at this period, through his gra- 
phic description of the first visit he and others of 
his father's family paid them, after they had settled 
at Chalfont. The EUwoods had made the acquaint- 
ance of Lady Springett and her daughter in Lon- 

77 



78 Thomas Ellwood 

don, several years before her marriage with Isaac 
Penington. Thomas Ellwood, who was a few years 
older than Guli, speaks of having been her play- 
ll41ow in former times, and of having been often 
drawn with her in her little coach through Lin- 
cohi's-inn Fields by Lady Springett's footman. 
Ultimately the family left London, and settled at 
Crowell in Oxfordshire, on the Ellwood estate. 
Hearing that the Peningtons had moved to Chal- 
font, the Ellwoods, flither and son, went to visit 
them ; and the latter in his autobiography speaks 
of the occasion as folloAvs : — 

" I mentioned before, that during my father's 
abode in London, in the time of the civil wars, he 
contracted a friendship with the Lady Springett, 
then a widow, and afterwards married to Isaac 
Penington, Esq. To continue the acquaintance, he 
sometimes visited them at their country residence 
at Datchet, and also at Causham Lodge, near 
Eeading. Having heard that they were come to 
Hve on their own estate at Chalfont in Bucking- 
hamshire, about fifteen miles from Crowell, he went 
one day to visit them there and to return at night, 
talking me with him ; but very much surprised we 
were when, being come thither, we first heard, then 
ll)iuid, they were become Quakers — a people we 
hrid no knowledge of, and a name we had till then 
scarcely heard of So great a change from a free, 
dirbonair, and courtly sort of behaviour, which we 
i^rincily had found them in, to so strict a gravity 



visits CliaJJhid. 79 

as they now received us with, did not a little amuse, 
and disappoint our expectation of such a pleasant 
visit as we used to have, and had now promised 
ourselves. Nor could my father have any oppor- 
tunity, by a private conference with them, to under- 
stand the ground or occasion of this change, there 
being some other strangers with them, related, to 
Isaac Penington, who came that morning from 
London to visit them also. 

" For my part I sought, and at length found 
means to cast myself into the company of the 
daughter, whom I found gathering flowers in the 
garden, attended by her maid, who was also a 
Quaker. But when I addressed myself to her after 
my accustomed manner, with intentions to engage 
her in some discourse which might introduce con- 
versation, on the ground of our former acquaintance, 
though she treated me with a courteous mien, yet, 
young as she was, the gravity of her look and be- 
haviour struck such an awe over me, that I was not 
so much master of myself as to pursue any further 
converse with her. Wherefore, asking pardon for 
my boldness in having intruded into her private 
walks, I withdrew, not without some disorder of 
mind. 

" We stayed dinner, vrhich was very handsome, 
and lacked nothing to recommend it but the want 
of mirth and pleasant discourse, which we could nei- 
ther have with them, nor, by reason of them, with 
one another amongst ourselves; the weiglitiness 



8o Meethtg at the Grave. 

tliat was upon their spirits and countenances keep- 
ing down the lightness that would have been up in 
us. We stayed, notwithstanding, till the rest of 
the company had taken leave of them, and then we, 
also doing the same, returned, not greatly satisfied 
with our journey, nor knowing what in particular 
to find fault with. 

'' Some time after this, my father, having gotten 
some further account of the people called Quakers, 
and being desirous to be informed concerning their 
principles, made another visit to Isaac Penington 
and his wife at the Grange, in St. Peter's Chalfont, 
and took both my sisters and me with him. It was 
in the Tenth-month, in the year 1659, that we went 
thither on that occasion. We found a very kind 
reception, and tarried some days, at least one day 
the longer, because while we were there, a meeting 
was appointed at a place about a mile from thence, 
to which we were invited to go, and willingly went. 
It was held in a farm house, called the Grove, which 
having formerly been a gentleman's seat, had a 
very large hall, and that was well filled. To this 
meeting came Edward Burrough, beside other 
preachers, as Thomas Curtis and James Nayler; 
Ijut none spake at that time but Edward Burrough, 
next to whom, as it were under him, it was my lot 
to sit, on a stool by the side of a long table on 
which he sat, and I drank in his words with de- 
sire, for they not only answered my understanding, 
but warmed my heart with a certain heat which 



James NayJer and Edward BurroufjJi. 8i 

I had not till then felt from the ministry of any 
man. 

When the meeting was ended, our friends took 
us home with them again ; and after supper, the 
evenings being long, the servants of the family 
who were Quakers, were called in and we all sat 
down in silence. But long we had not so sat 
before Edward Burrough began to speak, and 
though he spake not long, yet what he said did 
touch, as I suppose, my father's copyhold, as the 
phrase is. He, having been from his youth a pro- 
fessor, though not joined in what is called close 
communion with any one sort, and valuing him- 
self upon the knowledge he esteemed himself to 
have respecting the various notions of each pro- 
fession, thought he had now a fair opportunity to 
display his knowledge; and thereupon began to 
make objections against what had been delivered. 
The subject of the discourse was, ' The universal 
free grace of God to all mankind.' To this he 
opposed the Calvinistic tenet of particular and per- 
sonal predestination ; in defence of which inde- 
fensible notion he found himself more at a loss 
than he expected. Edward Burrough said not 
much to him upon it, though what he said was 
close and cogent. But James Nayler interposing, 
handled the subject with so much perspicuity and 
clear demonstration, that his reasoning seemed to 
be irresistible ; and so I suppose my father found 
it, which made him willing to drop the discourse. 
6 



82 Isaac Peitwgtons 

As for Edward Burrough, he was a brisk young 
man, of a ready tongue, and might have been, for 
aught I then knew, a scholar ; but what James 
Nayler said had with me the greater force, because 
he looked like a plain, simple countryman, having 
the appearance of a husbandman or shepherd. As 
my fiither was not able to maintain the argument 
on his side, so neither did they seem willing to 
drive it on to an extremity on their side ; but, treat- 
ing him in a soft and gentle manner, did after a 
while let fall the discourse, and then we withdrew 
to our respective chambers. 

" The next morning we prepared to return home 
(that is my father, my younger sister, and myself; 
for my elder sister was gone before by the stage- 
coach to London), when, having taken leave of 
our friends, we went forth, they with Edward Bur- 
rough accompanied us to the gate, where he directed 
his speech in a few words to each of us severally, 
according to the sense he had of our several con- 
ditions. When we were gone off, and they gone in 
again, they asked him what he thought of us ; he 
answered them, as they afterwards told me, to this 
effect : — "As for the old man he is settled on his 
lees, and the young woman is light and airy ; but 
the young man is reached^ and may do well if he 
does not lose it." 

Isaac Penington's religious experience and his 
religious conclusions, before his settlement at Glial- 



Religious experiences, 83 

font, are unfolded by his own words. He says : — 
'' My heart from my childhood was pointed towards 
the Lord, whom I feared and longed after from my 
tender years. I felt that I could not be satisfied 
with, nor indeed seek after the things of this per- 
ishing world, but I desired a true sense of, and 
unity with, that which abideth for ever. There 
was something still within me which leavened and 
balanced my spirit almost continually ; but I knew 
it not distinctly so as to turn to it, and give up to 
it entirely and understandingly. In this temper of 
mind I earnestly sought after the Lord, applying 
myself to hear sermons, and read the best books I 
could meet with, but especially the Scriptures, 
which were very sweet and savoury to me. Yea, 
I very earnestly desired and pressed after the 
knowledge of the Scriptures, but was much afraid 
of receiving men's interpretations of them, or of 
fastening any interpretations upon them myself; 
but waited much, and prayed much, that from the 
Spirit of the Lord I might receive the true under- 
standing of them, and that He would endue me 
with that knowledge which I might feel to be 
sanctifying and saving. 

"And indeed I did sensibly receive of His love, 
of His mercy, and of His grace, and at seasons 
when I was most filled with the sense of my own 
unworthiness, and had least expectation of the 
manifestations of them. But I became exceedingly 
entangled about election and reprobation ; having 



84 Isaac Peningtons 

drunk in that doctrine according as it was then 
held forth hy the strictest of those that were termed 
Puritans, fearing lest, notwithstanding all my de- 
sires and seeking after the Lord, He might in His 
decree have passed by me. I felt it would be bitter 
to me to bear His wrath, and be separated from 
His love for evermore ; yet if He had so decreed, it 
would be, and I should, notwithstanding fair be- 
ginnings and hopes, fall away, and perish at last." 

Under the gloom of that awful perversion of 
Christ's gospel to man, Isaac Penington's sensitive 
mind suffered fearfully for years. Gleams of hope 
and spiritual brightness at times shone through the 
clouds, and brought some comfort to his mind; but 
no settled peace, no full abiding sense of his Hea- 
venly Father's loving care kept possession of his 
soul, so long as an apprehension of the truth of that 
God-dishonouring doctrine continued to find any 
place in his mind.''^ But at length the time amved 
when the triumph of Christian truth drove hence 
that baneful error, which, under one phase or an- 
other, had tended in Penington's mind to destroy a 
right sense of the supreme justice, love, and mercy 

^ I have again and again tliougUt over the appellation of God-dis- 
honouring doctrine^ as given above, to the doctrine of Unconditional 
Election and Reprobation, to try if I might not soften it, seeing that it 
is believed in by many w^ho would be shocked at the thought of enter- 
taining any opinions that are dishonouring to God. But my conviction 
is so strong of this being its true character, that I cannot think it right 
to make any alteration which would lessen the force or fullness of the 
expression. 



Rdijlous experiences. 85 

of the Lord. They who were made instrumental 
in bringing about this happy change were not 
among the learned theologians of that day, but 
belonged to the Christian body before alluded to, 
and which in an especial manner rejected the sys- 
tematic theology taught by the professors of the 
popular divinity. He describes the result of his 
intercourse with the Quakers as follows : — 

" At first acquaintance with this people that 
which was of God in me opened, and I did imme- 
diately in my spirit own them as children of my 
Father, truly begotten of His life by His own spirit. 
But the wise reasoning part presently rose up, con- 
tending against their uncouth way, for which I did 
disown them, and continued a stranger to them, 
and a reasoner against them, for about twelve 
months. By weighing and considering things in 
that way, I was still further and further off from 
discerning their leadings by the Spirit of God into 
those things. But at length it pleased the Lord to 
draw out His sword against that part in me, turning 
the wisdom and strength thereof backward; and 
again to open that eye in me wherewith He had 
given me to see the things of His kingdom in some 
measure from a child. And then I saw and felt 
them grown in that Life and spirit which I, through 
the treachery of the fleshly-wise part, had been 
estranged from. And now, what bitter days of 
mourning I have had over tlii^j, the Lord alone fully 
knows. Oh ! I have known it indeed to be a bitter 



86 Isaac Peuingtoris 

tiling to follow this wisdom as that which could 
make me truly to understand the Scriptures. The 
Lord hath judged me for it, and I have borne a 
burden and condemnation for that which many at 
this day wear as their crown." 

In another place he speaks of having " now at 
length met with the true way, and walked with the 
Lord therein, wherein daily certainty, yea, full as- 
surance of faith and of understanding, is obtained." 
'^ Blessed be the Lord ? there are many at this day 
who can truly and faithfully witness that they have 
been brought by the Lord to this state. We have 
thus learned of Him not by the high, striving, as- 
piring mind, but by lying low, and being contented 
with a little ; if but a crumb of bread, yet bread ; 
if but a drop of water, yet water. And we have 
been contented with it, and thankful to the Lord 
for it. Nor was it by thoughtfulness and wise 
searciiing, or deep considering with our own wis- 
dom and reason that we obtained this ; but in the 
still, meek, and humble waiting have we found it." 

There was in Isaac Penington's religious experi- 
ence much spiritual feeling; and occasionally we 
find in his writings an amount of figurative ex- 
pression which has sometimes been called mysti- 
cism. Whether it has a right to be so called, or 
not, depends on the meaning we attach to the word. 
If by mysticism in religion, we only mean an 
earnest longing after, and very high enjojanent of 
inward spiritual communion with God, and, in writ- 



JReltfjtoits e.rpcriowes. 87 

ingj frequent allusions to such spiritual experience, 
mingled with figurative phrases, we need not demur 
to its application to Penington. But if, as is more 
commonly understood, we mean by religious mysti- 
cism an ecstatic state of feeling, leading into what is 
unpractical and mysterious, instead of a calming 
influence that acts on the conscience and regulates 
the whole moral life, Penington was no mystic. 
That mysticism which looks at Bible history and 
Gospel teaching through a haze that resolves them 
into fanciful types and figures, dissipating the 
simple truth and the obvious meaning of Holy 
Scripture, could not correspond in any degree with 
Penington's religion. He, though contemplative 
and retiring, was a true practical Christian. In 
common with the early Friends, he avoided using 
terms which had originated in the dogmatic theo- 
logy. With them he wished to keep to Scripture 
language, and to avoid artificial terms which were 
liable to unscriptural constructions. 

It will be observed that he regarded that which 
is now called Calvinism as having led his mind 
into serious error, and away from the reverential 
caution of his earlier days. It is in relation to its 
teachings that he says, " I have known it, indeed, to 
be a bitter thing to follow this wisdom as that 
which could make me truly to understand the 
Scriptures." In some other instances he uses still 
stronger language, when describing the mental 
suffering and perplexities which had resulted from 



88 L.aac Peru nrj tons 

Lis Laving been iniluenced by sucL doctrine, in- 
stead of seeking and waiting reverentially and 
trustingly for tLe enliglitening influence of tlie 
Holy Spirit. TLis Le afterwards found to make 
clear wLatever was necessary to be cleared, in order 
to " God's will being truly made known to tLe 
heart — savingly, livingly, powerfully." 

The unsatisfied feeling with regard to spiritual 
communion with God, which for so many years was 
endured both by Isaac Penington and his wife, 
does not appear to have arisen out of, or to have 
been accompanied by, a sense of unforgiven sin. 
Circumstances indicate that in both cases the Lord 
was leaving them to pass through necessary experi- 
ences, until that degree of insight was acquired 
which prepared them to fill their allotted positions 
in the church. Isaac Penington became an emi- 
nent preacher of the Gospel among the Friends, 
and also an indefatigable writer. He was ever 
ready to put forth his literary powers and gentle 
persuasive infiacnce, in defence of that spiritual 
religion and gospel Truth which had brought so 
much comfort to his own soul. Mary Penington 
seems to have been in an especial manner fitted to 
be a true helpmate to him; her practical business 
capacity supplying what was less active in him. 
Unitedly they went forward with abiding trust in 
their Heavenly Fatlier's love and care, their spi- 
ritual life being mrido strong in the Lord. To the 
inquiry, years after Le Lad joined tlie Friends, if lie 



Religious experiences. 89 

were yet truly satisfied with the spiritual privileges 
he enjoyed, Isaac Penington replied, '' Yes, indeed ; 
I am satisfied at the very heart. Truly my heart is 
now united to Him whom I Ionized after, in an ever- 
lasting covenant of pure life and peace." 

Of the early Puritans he retained a high appre- 
ciation and affectionate remembrance ; but he re- 
garded them as having eventually missed their way 
in some religious matters of great importance to 
spiritual life. He says, '^ There was among them 
great sincerity, and love, and tenderness, and unity 
in that which was true ; minding the work of God 
in themselves, and being sensible of grace and truth 
in one another's hearts j before there was such a rent 
among them." " By degrees forms and different 
ways of worship grew among them, and the virtue 
and power of godliness decreased, and they were 
swallowed up in high esteem of, and contending 
each sort for their OAvn forms, whilst themselves 
had lost a sense of what they were inwardly to 
God, and what they had inwardly received from 
God in the days of their former zeal and tender- 
ness. Oh! that they could see this. Oh! that 
they could return to their early Puritan state, to 
the love and tenderness that was then in them. 
May the Lord open again the true spiritual e}'e in 
them, and give them to see therewith !" 

Yv^hen Isaac Penington had anchored on what he 
felt to be gospel Truth, he was indefatigable in ]iis 
efforts to draw others into that state whicli had 



go Isaac Peiditrjtons 

brought him so much consolation and clearness of 
spiritual vision. Especially dreading that teaching 
which did not dwell on or lead to a consciousness 
of the absolute necessity of the purification of the 
heart and conduct, he became very close and 
earnest in pressing home the worthlessness of 
relirjious belief which did not bring forth holiness 
of life. Many of his letters addressed to acquaint- 
ances under these feelings are still extant. Some 
of them wer*^ to persons now quite unknown, and 
various others to his own relations. Those letters 
to his father which have been preserved are re- 
markable productions. They seem to have fol- 
lowed each other uninterruptedly, but only two of 
them have dates, and these belong to 1658, the 
year in which Isaac Penington and his wife fully 
joined the Friends. I shall place those which I 
select in the order of time, as nearly as this can 
be ascertained from internal evidence. The maiui- 
scripts from which I have copied these letters are 
preserved in the Friends' Library, Devonshire 
House, London. Believing that if given in full 
they would be found tedious by the general reader, 
I have avoided the repetitions and omitted some 
paragraplis. Their character and tone of deep 
feeling will, I trust, be appreciated from the fol- 
lowing copious extracts : — 



Letters to hlb Father'. 91 

No. I. — Isaac Penington to his father, Alderman 
Penington, on the religion of the latter. 

"Ah, dear father, how strong and tender my 
affections have been to thee from my childhood, 
and how they have grown upon me of late years, 
the Lord knows and will in due time make 
manifest. My breathings have been strong after 
thy soul, my sorrow great concerning it, my 
prayer constant and very vehement for thee. In- 
deed there was somewhat in my heart which still 
caused me to fear concerning thy religion, through 
its beginning and its growth, of its not being what 
thou took it to be, nor able to effect in the end 
what thou expectest from it. Now let my love 
speak freely, and be not offended, for the Lord 
knows I would not speak one word to grieve or 
trouble thee, were there not an exceeding great 
cause." 

" Thy religion began in the wrong part ; thy fear 
was raised, and thy affection stirred, so thou didst 
bend thyself to seek after God to avoid the wrath 
thou wast afraid of By this means thou fell in 
with that religion which was obvious to thee, and 
hast taken up duties and practices which the un- 
derstanding and affections have drawn into. Here 
thou hast raised up a building, and here lies thy 
life and thy hope ; thy confidence arises but from 
the temper of the natural part in thyself" 

" Now, dear father, what hath thy religion ef- 



92 Isaac Peningtons 

fectcd ? Is thy soul redeemed from sin ? Art not 
thou a captive to this day to many lusts ? If thou 
knewest that power wherein is the lawful strife 
against sin, thy bonds would be broken. But striv- 
ing against sin in the part wherein sin's strength 
lies can never bring victory. But oh ! dear father, 
there is power in the death of Christ ; power to 
bridle the tongue and the passions ; power to bridle 
prejudices ; yea, and to cut down that in which 
these things stand. If thou knewest the Truth of 
Christ, the living Truth, which the Apostles knew 
and preached, thou wouldst say by experience, this 
is able to make free from sin, for it takes possession 
of the heart where sin's throne is ; it is stronger 
than sin, and its strength would appear if it were 
but hearkened to and turned to. 

"Oh ! that thou knewest that Egypt, that Sodom, 
that Babylon which the Lord calls out of, and that 
Canaan, that Sion, that Jerusalem which He calls 
to, that thou mightest set thy face thitherward; for 
thy soul must leave the one, and come to the other, 
or thou wilt miss what thou hopest for in the end. 
Therefore [seek] to know the Word in thy heart, 
to know the living Christ, to know the voice of 
the living God ; to know that which smites thee 
in secret ; and let not the wound be healed slightly. 
Let not the deceiver cry, ' Peace ! peace ! where 
there is no peace;' but know the destruction of that 
wicked one in thee to whom God will never be rec- 
onciled. And do not hearken to teach'jrs who teach 



Letters to his Father. c^j 

ill tlie wisdom which is out of the life, which is in 
the fallen understanding; for in that state they 
themselves cannot but perish, and their doctrine is 
not able to save any. Therefore, dear father, seek 
the true Teacher, which is He that smiteth in secret. 
Oh ! how often hath He knocked at the door of 
thy heart : do at length let Him in. He comes with 
the true knowledge, with true life, with true power. 
Do not thrust Him away, but make peace with Him; 
give up His enemy to Him ; let Him beat down 
the high and lofty one, and raise up the poor, the 
meek, even that of God in thee which is in cap- 
tivity. Let not thy talent lie hid in the napkin, 
or thou wilt not be able to answer for it to God." 

" I remain thy dearly loving son, filled with 
grief and sorrov\r for thy soul. 

"J. P." 



No. II. — Isaac Penlngton to his father^ Alderman 
Penington, on gospel ministry. 

" Dear Father, 

" The gospel is the power of God unto 
salvation ; it is the glad tidings of freedom from 
sin, and of the baptism of the Spirit, that we may 
serve God in holiness and righteousness all the days 
of our life. The ministers of the gospel are those 
v/lio in the spirit of Christ, by the gift and inspira- 
tion thereof, preach these tidings to the poor and 



Q4 Isaac Penui(jioii\s 

needy, to the captives, to those that groan under 
the pressure of the body of corruption. 

" This gospel, through the great mere}' of God, 
I have at length heard preached. Though thou, 
through prejudice, calls this speaking of the Spirit 
through servants and handmaids, _2J?^a/m^, yet the 
Lord can forgive thee ; for surely if thou knew 
what thou didst herein, thou Avouldst not thus 
offend the Lord — extolling preaching by man's 
wisdom, from a minister made by man, for gospel 
preaching ; and condemning the preaching of per- 
sons sent by God under the immediate inspiration 
of his Spirit. 

" As for those whom thou callest ministers, if I 
were to speak concerning them the very truth from 
the Lord, thou couldst not receive it ; yet I am 
far from accounting them the ' off-scouring of the 
earth ;' for I look upon them as wise and knowing, 
and as of great beauty in earthly learning and 
wisdom ; but surely not as having ' the tongue of 
the learned/ in the gospel sense, ' to speak a word 
in season to him that is weary.' [Yet they abun- 
dantly examine] the Scriptures, and toss them 
about, and wrest them in their uncertain reason- 
ings and guessings concerning the sense, and in the 
various doubtful interpretations they give. 

" And whereas I am blamed for not putting a 
difference between the profane and scandalous min- 
isters and the reverend and godly sort, my answer 
is : they are united in one form of ministr3^ The 



Letters to his FatL 



ter. 



95 



question is not concerning the persons, but the 
ministry, in which they are one, and their standing 
and power of government one, which is not by tlie 
power and presence of the Spirit, but by the 
strength of the magistrate. The true gospel min- 
istry is spiritual, and cannot be upheld by that 
which is carnal in its call, its maintenance, or its 
government. When Christ came in the flesh, the 
severe wards He pronounced were not so much 
against the profane and scandalous among the 
Scribes and Pharisees, as against those that ap- 
peared most strict, and were accounted among the 
Jews the most reverend and godly. And were it 
not for the appearance of godliness in these men, 
the persecution of the present times had not been 
so hot, and the good old work of reformation so 
much overturned as it is at this day." 



No. III. — Isaac Penington to his father, Alderman 
Penington, combating the accusations of the latter 
against " The Friends of Truth.'' 

" Ah, dear f[ither, why dost thou so often give 
me occasion of mourning before the Lord, because 
of hard and unrighteous charges from thee. How 
often have I solemnly professed that there never 
was any desire in me, nor endeavours used by me, 
to draw my father to this way [the Friends' way] 
which my father will not equalbr consider, 1:)ut Avill 



p6 Laac F^uingtoiis 

have his own apprehension go for granted ! All 
the desire that is in my soul is this, that my father 
might have the true knowledge of Christ, and not 
set up another thing instead of it ; that he might 
indeed hear His sayings, and do them, and not set 
up his own or other men's fancies and invented 
meanings instead of the sayings of Christ. Now, 
though I am not for ways, or opinions, but only for 
Christ, the living power of God felt in the heart, 
yet because my father stumbleth at these things, I 
cannot but say somewhat more. My father lays 
dovv n three reasons why he cannot believe this way 
to be of God, viz. : — 

" 1st. ' Ox)cVs luay is a ivay of love^ peace, aficl unity. ^ 
" Answer. — If my father had that eye opened 
that can see the things of God, and did apply him- 
self to look therewith, he might see that peace, that 
love, that unity among this people which other 
men do but talk of; but if he takes things by the 
report of the enemies both to God and them, he 
shall be sure to hear and believe bad enough. 
They have no war with any thing but unrighteous- 
ness ; and with that they cannot have peace, no, 
not though it be in their dearest relations. They 
love the souls of their enemies, and think no pains 
or hazard too great for the saving of them. Being 
persecuted, they bless ; being reviled, they entreat 
and pray for their persecutors. They are at unity 
with whatever is of God ; but with the seed of the 
serpent they cannot be at unity ; for they freely 



Letters to his Father . 97 

v/itncss against the generation of vipers in this pre- 
sent age, under their several painted coverings, as 
(Jhrist and his Apostles did against the Scribes and 
Pharisees. The spirit of the Scribes and Pharisees 
is now in the world ; and the Spirit of Christ and 
His apostles is also in the world, and they cannot 
but fight, each with its proper weapons : the 
one with stocks, whips, fines, prisons, etc., the other 
with the spiritual armour of Christ. Thus the one 
wrestles with flesh and blood, fights with the 
creature^ hurts that : the other loves the creature, 
seeks the saving of it, and fights only against the 
power of darkness which rules the creature." 

" 2nd. ' God's loay is a way of humility.^ 

^^ Ans'wer. — If they had not been broken and 
humbled by God, they could never have been 
entered into this way, which the lofty fleshly part 
abhors. Nor is this a voluntary humility ; but a 
true Christian humility, which crosseth and break- 
eth the will [that is opposed to God] all the day 
long." 

•^ 3rd. ' That God is a God of order^ not of coii- 
faslon' 

" A}iswer. — Blessed be the Lord, who hath re- 
covered for us some of the true church's order, 
and delivered out of the confusion of Antichrist. 
^Ye know thnt order which is of the Spirit of 
Christ ; but that which man in his Vvdsdom calls 
order is but Antichrist's order. To have man's 
spirit speak, and God's Spirit stopt, is the order of 
7 



gS Isaac Peniiujtons 

all the Antichristian churches and congregations. 
But to have man's spirit stopt and God's Spirit 
speak is the order of Christ's church, and this 
order we know and rejoice in." 

" The last part of the letter consists of very harsh 
and unrighteous charges, mixed with bitter expres- 
sions which I pass over, appealing to God who is 
able to clear me. Only I confess it is somewhat 
hard to one part of me, that my own father should 
deal thus with me." 

" About not having comfort in me, and wishing 
me more comfort in my son, I must needs say this 
— If that eye were opened which could see the 
work of God in and upon me, this might afford 
comfort ; and if the Lord ever vouchsafe to give me 
such a cause of comfort in any of my children, it 
will be the joy of my soul. If I were in any 
formal way of religion, I might be a comfort to my 
father, for he could at least bear with that; but 
because the Lord hath seized upon my heart by 
the power of His Truth, and I can bow to none but 
Him, — ^no, not to my most dear father — now I am 
no comfort. 

"Uth of Twelfth Month, 1658." 

From the above letters it will be evident how 
diametrically different were the religious views and 
feelings of the father and son. Two other letters 
also exist from the latter to the former; but to 
enter into i\w\v details would rather flitigue than 



Letters to Ills Fatlicr. gg 

edify most of my readers. One of them is very 
long, and from the tenor of both it seems that the 
Alderman had continued to speak disparagingly, 
even fiercely, of the Friends and of his son's reli- 
gion and had proceeded to show ho\Y much of 
Holy Scripture he could cite in behalf of the reli- 
gious views which he himself relied on as sustained 
by gospel Truth. Isaac Penington makes very 
plain remarks to his father on his religion, as not 
producing the fruits of righteousness — such re- 
marks as no proud or self-satisfied spirit could 
patiently bear, and then he takes up each of the 
texts referred to, and gives that exposition which 
he thinks the true one. With the following: words 
he enters on the consideration of the texts in his 
fourth letter : " My father in his letter mentioneth 
many Scriptures which raise his confidence. It is 
upon my heart to consider of them in dear love to 
my father's soul." 

The texts alluded to by Alderman Penington are 
as follows : — Luke, xix. 10 ; John, i. 12 ; John, iii. 
16, IT ; Rom. viii. 30 ; Rom. x. 4 ; 1 Cor. i. 30 ; 
2 Cor. V. 19, 21 ; Gal. iv. 4, 5, 6 ; Eph. ii. 13, 14, 
IG ; Col. i. 21, 22 ; 1 Tim. i. 15 ; Tit. ii. 14 ; Heb. 
i. 3 ; 1 John, i. 7 ; 1 John, ii. 1, 2, 5 ; Rev. i. 5, 6. 

No ome can doubt the earnest, loving, truthful 
feelings which induced Isaac Penington to write 
the letters in question to his father; though some may 
doubt the probability of such letters producing con- 
viction under the circumstances, whilst others will 



lOO Isaac Peninfjions 

question the correctness of Isaac Penington's asser- 
tion in the first letter, that his father's rehgion 
" began in the wrong part." Doubtless it began 
very differently to what his did. His did not begin 
in fear of divine wrath, but in longing after purity 
of heart. But the first spiritual awakening and 
early religious convictions of various minds begin 
so variously, that it does not seem to be for any 
one to speak dogmatically as to where or how 
they must begin. 

But we are certainly warranted in judging the 
tree by its fruits, and judging the genuineness of 
religion by its results. Our Lord has expressly 
directed our attention to the test, men do not gather 
grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles. Any one who 
is living under the influence of the Holy Spirit 
must in life and conduct be governed by truth. 

It is quite evident that the dominion of the 
Spirit of Truth, and the absolute truthfulness which 
accompanied that dominion in the hearts and 
lives of Isaac Penington and his wife, suffered no 
compromise in judging their own conduct or that 
of another, whether that other was father, friend 
or enemy. To speak to his father with the plain- 
ness which marks his expressions in these letters, 
must have been to such a nature as Isaac Pening- 
ton's a great difiiculty. But, being among those 
whom Jesus had ^' sanctified through the Truth," he 
was ready to sacrifice all that he believed it called 
for. A writer of eminence in our own days truly 



Sacrifices to Trutli. loi 

expresses, in the following declarationj what such 
sacrifices involves : — 

" The sacrifice which God requires from us first 
and foremost is the sacrifice to Truth. Not to 
authority, not to freedom, not to popularity, not to 
fear, but to Truth. It is no doubt a hard sacrifice 
wliich is thus required. Long inveterate custom, 
cherished phrases bound up with some of our best 
aftections, the indolent respect of persons, or ac- 
quiescence in common usage — these are what Truth 
again and again compels us to surrender. But tliis 
is precisely the sacrifice which God demands from 
us at His altar, this is precisely the sacrifice which 
in our solemn act of self-dedication we declare that 
we are ready to ofier — ' that we will always prefer 
Truth to custom ;' that we will give to Truth not 
the second or the third, but the first place ; that 
antiquity, novelty, prejudice, fashion must give way 
before the claims of Truth, wherever it be found. 
Dear no doubt is tradition ; dear is the long fiimi- 
liar recollection ; dear and most sacred in its own 
place and measure is venerable antiquity on the one 
hand, or bold originality on the other ; but dearer 
than any of these, dearer and higher in human 
things, dearer and higher yet in things divine, 
is Truth ; the duty of seeking and speaking the 
Truth in love, in the unshaken laith that Truth 
is great and will in the end prevail. And may He 
whose name is Truth be with our humblest efforts 



I02 Churlis (he SccoiuTs 

to teach the Truth, and honour the Truth every- 
where !" 

The Latest date in any of Isaac Penington's let- 
ters to his father is in the last month of 1658. An 
event was then approaching in the nation's history 
which must have claimed the utmost attention and 
interest of illderman Penin^^ton. Whether amid 
that anxiety the correspondence between him and 
his eldest son extended any further, or was ever 
renewed, it is now impossible to ascertain. 

When Richard Cromwell had proved himself un- 
equal to the task of holding the reins of government ■'' 
which had been placed in his hands, one popular .1 
change succeeded another without any consolida- | 
tion of central authority. Most of those who had 
sat as the late king's judges could read in the signs 
of the times the probable restoration of the Stuart 
dynasty. That thought brought more terror to 
many hearts than they were inclined to manifest. 
At length the crisis came, and on the first day of 
May, 1660, the famous declaration of Charles the 
Second from Breda was presented by his commis- 
sioner to both Houses of Parliament ; and also to 
the city authorities, and through them to the nation. 
The royal promise of indemnity which it contained 
raised for a few days the drooping hopes of those 
who had most to fear. Thus the indemnity 
clause announced : — '' We do by these presents ' 
declare that we do grant a free and general pardon, 
which we are ready on demand to pass under our 



Breda Proclamation . 103 

great seal of England to all our subjects wliatevei*, 
who within forty days after the publishing hereof 
shall lay hold on this our grace and favour, and 
shall by any public act declare their doing so, and 
that they return to the loyalty and obedience cX 
good subjects; excepting only such persons as shall 
hereafter be excepted by parliament — those only 
to be excepted. Let all our subjects, how faulty 
soever, rely upon the word of a king solemnly 
given by this present declaration, that no crime 
whatsoever committed against us, or our royal 
father, before the publication of this, shall ever 
rise in judgment, or be brought in question against 
any of them, to the least endamagement of them 
either in their lives, liberties, or estates, (as far as 
lies in our power) or so much as the prejudice of 
their reputations." 

Of the original members of the Parliamentary 
High Court of Justice, which condemned the late 
King, forty-eight were still living; and nineteen of 
these, relying upon the ivord of a Idng so solemnly 
set forth, delivered themselves up as accepting 
pardon and promising allegiance to Charles the 
Second. Of the remaining twenty-nine, who could 
not rely on the royal promise as sufficient to en- 
sure pardon, a few secreted themselves in England 
— the others immediately went abroad. Alder- 
man Penington was one of the nineteen who, re- 
h'ing on the word of the King, came in before 
the expiration of the forty days. On the 8th of 



I04 Alderman I]nui-'f 



on 



May the two IIouhch of Parliament proclaimed 
Charles the Second, King of England, Scotland, 
and Ireland, and on the twentj -f.ftli ho arrived 
at Dover. 

Before the arrival of the King, the Parliament, 
anxious to prove to him its great loyalty, decided 
that all they who had sat as his father's judges 
should be imprisoned and brought to trial; and 
also every one who in an official capacity had had 
anything to do wdth his accusation or execution. 
About three months after the kingdom w^as 
restored to Charles, twenty-nine persons v/ere 
brought to trial, and condemned to death as regi- 
cides. Included in the twenty-nine were the nine- 
teen trusting ones who had given themselves up 
on his declaration of indemnity. Of the nineteen, 
fourteen were respited from death, the punishment 
being changed to imprisonment for life, and all 
their property and estates were confiscated. Ten, 
among whom were six wdio had signed the king's 
death-warrant, and four officials, were condemned 
to death, and suffered execution. 

Alderman Pennigton, with the thirteen others, 
Avas committed as a prisoner to that Tower over 
which he once ruled as an honourable and execu- 
tive governor; but his durance there was cut short 
by hard usage. Sir John Robinson, Lieutenant of 
the Tower, w^as devoid of humanity and of prin- 
ciple; and the treatment to which he subjected the 
prisoners w^as consistent with his character. Lucy 



a Prisoner in tlie Tower, 105 

Hutchinson, in the memoirs of her husband, Colon ^1 
Hutchinson, says : — '^ The gentlemen who were the 
late king's judges, and who were decoyed to sur- 
render themselves to custody by the Houses' 
proclamation, were kept in miserable bondage 
under that inhuman, bloody jailer, the Lieutenant 
of the Tower, who stilled some of them to death 
for want of air ; and, when they had not one penny 
but what was given them to support their families 
(all their estates being confiscated), exacted from 
them rates for bare unfurnished prison rooms ; of 
some, forty pounds for one miserable chamber; of 
others, double ; beside unjust fees, for to raise 
which their poor wives were obliged to engage their 
jointures, or make other miserable shifts. And yet 
this rogue had all this while three pounds a week 
paid out of the Exchequer for every one of them." 
This unscrupulous man. Sir John Robinson, will 
come under our notice again. 

It was in October that the regicides were con- 
demned and their estates confiscated. In the State 
Papers belonging to that period, which have re- 
cently been published, I find this enfry, " Decem- 
ber 7th, 1660 : Petition of George, Bishop of 
Worcester, to the King, for the grant of a lease of 
tt.Hiements in Whitefriars belonging to the bishopric, 
value eighty pounds a year, forfeited by Isaac 
Penington, late Alderman of London." And again, 
'* August 8th, 1661 ; Grant to George, Bishop of 
Worcester, of five houses, etc. in Whitefriars, 



io6 Death of Aide J' ma J I Pcaluytoii. 

near Fleet-street, lately belonging to Isaac Pening- 
ton, attainted of treason." In the Gentlemans 
Magazine it is stated that Alderman Penington's 
estates, among which was the seat of the Sharlows, 
called The Place, being confiscated, were given 
by Charles the Second to the Duke of Grafton. 

Finally, we have in the State Papers, under the 
date of " Dec. 19th, 1661 ; Warrant to Sir John 
Kobinson, Lieutenant of the Tower, to deliver the 
corpse of Isaac Penington, who died in prison there, 
to his relations." 

Neither record nor relic beyond what has been 
introduced, have I been able to discover of the con- 
demned alderman, Isaac Penington, except that 
his silver drinking cup has for many years been in 
possession of his American descendants. It is now 
the property of Edward Penington of Philadelphia. 
It has on it the Tower stamp, the initials I. P., 
and the date 1642, the year in which he was chosen 
Lord Mavor of London. 



CHAPTER IV. 

1642-1661. 

Thomas Ellwood's early life. — His second visit to Chalfont. — His con- 
vincement. — Joins the Friends — His father's displeasure — The Pen- 
ingtons' visit to Crowell. — Young Ellwood returns with them to the 
Grange. — He is arrested for travelling on the first day of the week. — 
Quaker and Presbyterian views of the Sabbath. — Thomas Ellwood 
returns to Crowell. — Is imprisoned in Oxford under keeping of the 
j\[arshal. — Isaac Penington writes to him from Aylesbury jail, and 
Thomas Loe from that of Oxford. — Ellwood is released. — Isaac Pen- 
ington's letter from Aylesbury to his wife. — His trials and difficulties. 
— Is released from prison. 

The tutor whom Isaac Penington had heretofore 
employed to teach his three eldest children English, 
being iniable to give them instruction in Latin, an- 
other had to be looked for. He who succeeded as 
teacher at the Grange was Thomas Ellwood, al- 
ready introduced as the youthful friend of Gulielma 
Springett ; and who with his father, as before re- 
lated, had visited the Peningtons on their settle- 
ment in Buckinghamshire. As he continued to be 
tutor to the children and an honoured inmate of 
the family for the seven following years, his per- 
sonal history during that period is much inter- 
woven with theirs. It becomes an interesting 

107 



io8 Thomas EJlwoocVs 

element in the social and religious life at Chalfont, 
and we must therefore glance at his antecedents. 

EUwood's father was an estated gentleman of 
honourable descent, whose property and family 
residence were at Crowell, about three miles east- 
ward from Thame, in Oxfordshire. Thame Park 
was the abode of Lord Wenman, whom he speaks 
of as his relative, and a person of great honour 
and virtue — at whose table he was always received 
as a welcome guest. Ellwood says, " I have cause 
to think I should have received from this lord 
some advantageous preferment, had I not been 
called into the service of the best and highest Lord, 
and thereby lost the favour of all my friends, re- 
lations, and acquaintances of this world." 

Thomas was the youngest of the family, and 
only about two or three years old when they all 
removed to London as a place of greater safety, on 
the commencement of the civil war. It was during 
the years which intervened before their return, that 
this amiable boy became the playmate of Lady 
Springett's lovely little daughter. He tells us, in 
his interesting fragment of autobiograph}^, that till 
he was about fifteen years of age his health was so 
delicate and his stature so small, that fears were 
entertained lest he should prove a dwarf. But 
about that time his constitution and physical vigour 
underwent a change which banished all such fears. 
From being a small delicately knit, refined lad, he 
afterwards became a vigorous, middle-sized young 



Early Life. 109 

man, delighting in athletic sports, but ever averse 
to what was coarse or vulgar in mind or manners. 
Pie relates the following characteristic incident 
which occurred at that period : — 

"My father being in the commission of the 
peace, and going to a petty sessions at Watlington, 
I waited on him thither. When we came near the 
town, the coachman, seeing a nearer and easier way 
than the common road, through a corn-field, and 
that it was wide enough for the wheels to run 
without damaging the corn, turned down there. 
This being observed by a husbandman who was at 
plough not far off, he ran to us, and stopping the 
coach poured forth complaints in none of the best 
language for driving over the corn. My father 
mildly answered him, that if there was an offence 
committed, he must rather impute it to his servant 
than to himself, since he neither directed him to 
drive that way, nor knew which way he drove. 
Yet added, that he was going to such an inn in the 
town, whither if he came he would make him full 
satisfaction for whatever damage he had sustained 
thereby. And so on we went, tlie man venting his 
discontent in angry accents as he went back. At 
the town, upon inquiry, we understood that it 
was a way very often used without damage, being 
broad enough ; but it was not the common road, 
which lay not fiir from it, and was also good 
enough, wherefore my father bid his man drive 
home that vvay. 



no llionias EJhcoocVs 

" It was late in the evening when we returned, 
and very dark ; this quarrelsome man, who had 
troubled himself and us in the morning, having 
<i<)tton another lustv fellow like himself to assist 
liiin, waylaid us in the night, expecting we should 
return tlie way we went. But when they found we 
did not, but took the common way, angry that they 
were disappointed, and loath to lose their purpose, 
they coasted over to us in the dark, and laying hold 
on the horses' Ijridles, stopped them from going on. 
My father, asking the coachman the reason that he 
went not forward, was answered that there were 
two men at the horses' heads who held them back. 
Whereupon my father, opening the boot, stepped 
out, and I followed close at his heels. 

" Going to the place where the men stood, he 
demanded of them the reason of this assault ; they 
said we were upon the corn. We knew we were 
not on the corn, but on the common way, and so 
we told them ; but they said they were resolved 
the}' would not let us go on any farther, but would 
make us go back again. My lather endeavoured 
by gentle reasoning to persuade them to forbear, 
aud not run themselves farther into danger of the 
law ; but they rather derided him for it. Seeing 
therefore ftiir means would not work upon them, he 
spoke more roughly, charging them to deliver their 
clul)s (for each of them had a great club in his 
hand, somewhat like those called quarter-staves) ; 
thereupon they, laugliing, told him tlioy did not 



Early Life. ill 

])ring them thither for that end. Whereupon my 
lather, turning his head to me, said : — ' Tom, disarm 
them.' I stood ready at his elbow, waiting for the 
word of command; for, being naturally of a bold 
spirit, full of youthful heat, and that fully aroused 
by the sense I had of the abuse and the insolent 
behaviour of those rude fellows, my blood Ijegan to 
boil, and my fingers itched, as the saying is, to be 
dealing with them. Wherefore, immediately step- 
ping boldly forward to lay hold on the staff of him 
that was nearest to me, I said, ^ Sirrah, deliver your 
weapon.' He thereupon raised his club, which was 
big enough to have knocked down an ox, intending 
no doubt to knock me down with it, as probably he 
would have done, had I not, in the twinkling of an 
eye, whipped out my rapier, and made a pass upon 
him. I could not have failed running him through 
up to the hilt had he stood his ground; but the 
sudden and unexpected sight of my bright blade, 
glistening in the dark night, did so amaze and 
terrify the man, that, slipping aside, he avoided my 
thrust; and, letting his staff sink, betook himself 
to his heels for safety; which his companion seeing 
fled also. I followed the former as fast as I could, 
but i'eiir gave him wings, and made him swiftly fly; 
for, although I was accounted very nimble, I could 
not overtake him, which made me think he took 
shelter in some bushes, which he knew where to find 
tliougli I did not. Meanwhile the coachman, who 
had suiliciontiA' tlie outside of a man, excused him- 



112 



Tliomas ElhooocVs 



self for not intermeddling, under pretence that he 
durst not leave his horses, and so left me to shift 
for myself. I had gone so f^ir beyond my know- 
ledge that I understood not which way to turn, till 
by hallooing and by being hallooed to again I was 
directed where to find my company. 

"We had easy means to find who these men 
were, the principal of them having been at the inn 
during the day-time, and both quarreled with the 
coachman and threatened to be even with him when 
he went back ; but since they came ofi" so badly in 
their attempt, my father thought it better not to 
know them than to oblige himself to prosecute 
them. 

"At that time, and for a good while after, I had 
no regret upon my mind for what I had done, or 
had designed to do, in this case; but went on re- 
solved to kill, if I could, any man that should make 
the like attempt, or put any affront upon us ; and 
for that reason I seldom went afterAvards upon 
those public services wdthout a loaded pistol in my 
pocket. But when it pleased the Lord in His in- 
finite goodness to call me out of the spirit and ways 
of the w^orld, and give me the knowledge of His 
saving Truth, whereby the actions of my forepast 
life were set in order before me, a sort of horror 
seized upon me Avhen I had considered how near I 
had been to staining my hands with human blood. 
And whensoever afterwards I went that way, and 
indeed as often since as the matter has come into 



Eiiiij Life. 113 

my remembrancej mj soul lias blessed the Lord for 
my deliverance ; and tlianksgi ving and praises have 
arisen in my heart, as they do now, to Him who 
preserved and withheld me from shedding man's 
blood. 

''About this time my dear and honoured motlier, 
who was indeed a woman of singular worth and 
virtue, departed this life ; having a little time before 
heard of the death of her eldest son, who had fallen 
under the displeasure of my father, for refusing to 
resign his interest in an estate which my father 
sold. Thereupon my brother desired that he might 
have leave to travel, in hopes that time and ab- 
sence might work reconciliation. He went into 
Ireland with a person powerful there in those 
times, by whose means he was quickly preferred to 
a place of trust and profit, but lived not long to 
enjoy it." 

All the circumstances above related had taken 
place before Thomas Ellwood's first visit to the 
Peningtons at the Chalfont Grange. About a year 
elapsed between the first and the second visit of 
the Ell woods, when the addresses of Edward Bur- 
rough and James Nayler made so deep an impres- 
sion on Thomas's mind. That impression did not 
wear oft' on his return home ; but it determined 
him to see more of the Friends. He says, " I had 
a desire to go to another meeting of the Quakers ; 
and bid my father's man to inquire if there were 
any in the country thereabouts. He told me he 



1 14 EUwood a Quaher. 

had heard at Isaac Penington's that there was to be 
a meeting at High Wycombe on Thursday next. 
Thither therefore I went, though it was seven miles 
from me. And that I might be rather thought to 
go out a-coursing than to a meeting, I let my grey- 
hound run by my horse's side." That meeting and 
what he heard there, he tells us acted like the 
clinching of a nail, confirming and fixing the good 
principles that had before sunk so deeply. Light 
burst in upon his mind, letting him see his inward 
state and condition towards God. His whole de- 
sires, feelings, and trains of religious thought in the 
succeeding weeks underwent a change. He ob- 
serves : — " Now I saw that, although I had been in 
a great degree preserved from the common immo- 
ralities and gross pollutions of the world, yet the 
spirit of tlie world had hitherto ruled in me, and 
had led me into pride, flattery, vanity, and super- 
fluity. I found there were many plants growing in 
me which were not of the Heavenly Father's plant- 
ing ; and that all of these, of whatsoever kind or 
sort they were, or how specious soever they might 
appear, must be plucked up." 

The new spiritual birth and awakened percep- 
tions that now arose in his soul brought with them 
both comfort, and true earnestness of desire to be 
conformed to the will of God in all things. Con- 
flicts and trials succeeded, but strength was given 
adequate to the necessity on every occasion. An 
enlightened conscience, pointing in the gospel to 



Ellwood a Qualcer. 1 1 ^ 

the words of the Lord Jesus Himself, made it clear 
to him that the Friends were right in maintaining 
that, the follower of Christ must live a life of truth- 
fulness — must make it the great object of his life to 
]33 true to God, true to his fellow-man, and true to 
the convictions of his own conscience in all things ; 
that God required from His children and would 
help them to maintain truth in heart, in word, 
and in deed ; and that no one who is not governed 
by the Spirit of Truth and truthfulness, is pleasing 
God and serving Him aright. Then came the 
pinch in the application of this strict truthfulness to 
the current manners, popular language, and com- 
plimentary titles which prevailed in the world. 
The Friends had taken a decided stand against 
whatever they deemed untruthful in each of these, 
and young Ellwood, after examining every point, 
believed in his heart that the stand they had made 
was a right one ; and thus believing, he acted up- 
on it. So also he united with their views in giving 
up those things that he regarded as springing from 
a degree of human pride and vanity that should 
not be countenanced. Expensive personal deco- 
ration was discarded ; gold rings, gold lace, and all 
such ornaments were cast off, and in language and 
manners the Quaker mode of using no merely com- 
plimentary titles was adopted by him. 

Tlie ceremonious uncovering of the head and 
bowing of the knee were seriously regarded by the 
Friends as marks of veneration that should not be 



1 1 6 Ellwood a Quaker. 

offered to any mortal, but should be considered as 
due to God alone, and observed in prayerful ap- 
proaches to Him. We cannot wonder that, view- 
ing these observances in this light, no earthly 
consideration could induce them to comply with 
the flishionable usages. In these respects, also, 
Ellwood united with and adopted the principles 
and practice of the Quakers. He thus describes 
meeting with some of his former acquaintances 
after he had made that change, on an occasion 
when sent by his father to Oxford, with a message 
to his brother magistrates who sat on the bench 
durinsf the sessions : — 

" I went directly to the hall where the sessions 
were held, and had been but a very little while there 
before a knot of my old acquaintances espying me, 
came to me. One of these was a scholar in his 
gown, another a surgeon of that city (Oxford), 
both my schoolfellows and fellow-boarders at 
Thame school, and the third a country gentleman 
with whom I had long been very familiar. When 
they were come up to me, they all saluted me after 
the usual manner, putting off their hats and bow- 
ing, saying 'Your humble servant, sir,' expecting, 
no doubt, in return the same from me. But when 
they saw me stand still, not moving my cap nor 
bowing my knee in a way of congee to them they 
were amazed, and looked first one upon another, 
then upon me, and then one upon another again 
for a while, without a word speaking. At length 



Dljjlcalllts wllh Ins Father. iiy 

the surgeon, a brisk young man, who stood nearest 
to me, clapping his hand in a familiar way upon 
my shoulder, and smiling on me said, ' What 
Tom ! a Quaker ?' to which I readily and cheer- 
fully answered, ' Yes, a Quaker.' And as the 
words passed out of my mouth, I felt joy springing 
in my heart ; for I rejoiced that I had not been 
drawn out by them into any compliance ; and that 
I had strength and boldness given me to confess 
myself to be one of that despised people." 

In that age men when dressed generally wore 
their hats in the house as well as out of doors, 
only removing them on occasions of ceremony. 
Young Ellwood had not only hats and caps taken 
from him, one after another, till all he possessed 
were gone, but also every means of procuring 
others. To this his father had recourse in order to 
put it out of his power ever to appear covered in 
his presence— when he found that other and most 
cruel treatment which he had recourse to was un- 
availing. But do or say what he would to his son, 
he found him immoveable in this, though he still 
acted towards him with filial deference in every 
thing, but what appeared to him as encroaching on 
the honour due to God. The courage manifested 
in his earlier days in disarming the ruffian who 
attacked his father's carriage, was not now exer- 
cised in defending himself; that would have been 
impossible, without exasperating one whom he most 
gladly would; if in conscience he could; have ap- 



ii8 TJie Pcnlngtons at Croicell. 

peased. All his courage was now exercised in 
patient endurance of personal abuse from his 
father, having entered the service, and under the 
teaching of Him who, ^'when he was reviled, 
reviled not again." 

Several months followed without in any degree 
reconciling the father to the changes that had 
taken place in the son, when to the joy of the 
latter their friends from Chalfont came to pay 
them a visit at Crowell ; which Ellwood speaks of 
thus : — 

" At length it pleased the Lord to move Isaac 
Penington and his wife to make a visit to my 
father, and see how it fared with me : and very 
welcome they were to me, whatever they were 
to him, to whom I doubt not they would have been 
more welcome had it not been for me. They 
tarried with us all night, and much discourse they 
had with my father, both about the principles of 
Truth in general, and in relation to me in par- 
ticular, which I was not privy to ; but one thing 
which I afterwards heard of was this : when my 
father and we were at their house some months 
before, Mary Penington in some discourse there 
had told him how hardly her husband's father, 
Alderman Penington, had dealt with him about his 
hat ; which my father, little then thinking that it 
would, and so soon too, l)e his own case, did very 
much censure the Alderman for. He spared not 
liberally to blame him for it 3 wondering that so 



TJie Penlngtous at Crowell. iig 

wise a man as he was should take notice of so 
trivial a thing as the taking off or keeping on of a 
hat. This gave her a handle to take hold of him 
by. And having had an ancient acquaintance 
with him, and he having always had a high opinion 
of and respect for her, she, who was a woman of 
great wisdom, of ready speech, and of a well- 
resolved spirit, did press so close upon him with 
this home argument, that he was utterly at a loss 
how to defend himself. 

"After dinner next day, when they were ready 
to return home, she desired of my father that, since 
my company was so little acceptable to him, he 
would give me leave to go and spend some time 
with them, where I should be sure of a welcome. 
He was very unwilling I should go, and made 
many objections, all which she removed so clearly 
by her answers, that, not judging what further 
excuse to allege, he at length left it to me, and I 
soon turned the scale for going. 

" We were come to the coach side before this 
was concluded on, and I was ready to step in, when 
one of my sisters privately put my father in mind 
that I had no hat on. That somewhat startled 
him, for he did not think it fit I should go from 
home . so far, and to stay abroad, without a hat. 
Wherefore he whispered her to fetch me a hat, and 
he entertained them with some discourse in the 
meantime. But as soon as he saw the hat coming 
he would not stay till it came, lest I should put it 



I 20 QuaJi'cr clews of the Sahhatli. 

on before liim ; therefore, breaking off the dis- 
course, he abruptly took his leave of them. 

" I had not one penny of money about me, nor 
indeed elsewhere ; for iny father as soon as he saw 
that I would be a Quaker, took from me both what 
money I had, and everything else of value that 
would have made money — as silver buttons, rings, 
etc., pretending that he would keep them for me 
till I came to myself again. But as I had no 
money, being among my friends, I had no need of 
any, nor ever honed after it; though upon one 
particular occasion I had like to have wanted it." 

That occasion is worth noting for more than its 
quaint detail. It brings before us one of the 
characteristic enactments of the Commonwealth ; 
suggesting the different views on the sabbath ques- 
tion that prevailed between the Puritan and the 
Quaker of the seventeenth century. We find 
nearly the same difference prevailing between the 
Presbyterians and the Friends of our own time, 
though it may Ije the chasm between the two in 
this day is scarcely so Vvdde ns formerly. Perhaps 
the Presbyterians do not now regard the Sundaj^ as 
occupying exactly the same ground as the Jewish 
sabbath. The Friends, however, still hold that the 
first day of the weels:, though most necessarj^ as a 
day of rest from usual labour, has no Christian 
warrant for being kept as tlie Jews vrere ordered to 
keep their sai)])ath. They l)e]ieA'e tliat both tliC 
corporal and mental co:;stilution o^ man require 



Ellioood arrested. 121 

such rest. They also beheve that on such a day 
of repose from toil, religious worship and religious 
instruction should be especially attended to. But 
they do not hold that the first day of tlie week 
is any more holy, in the Jewish sense, than any 
other day. 

The occasion above alluded to occurred in 1660, 
a few weeks prior to the restoration of Charles the 
Second. ''' I had been at Reading," EUwood says, 
" and set out from thence on the first day of the 
week, in the morning, intending to reach (as in 
point of time, I well might) to Isaac Penington's, 
where the meeting was to be that day; jjut when I 
came to Maidenhead, I was stopped by the watch- 
man laying hold on the horse's bridle, and telling 
me I must go with him to the constable for traveh 
ling on Sunday. Accordingly I suffered him to lead 
my horse to the constable's door. When we got 
there, the constable told me I must go before the 
warden, who was the chief officer of the town ; 
and he bid the watchman bring me on, himself 
walking before. 

" Being come to the warden's door, the constable 
knocked, and desired to speak with Mr. Warden. 
He thereupon quickly coming to the door, the con- 
stable said : ' Sir, I have brought a man here to 
you, whom the watch took riding through the town.' 
The warden be2:an to examine me, askimr whence 
I came, and whither T was going. I told him I 
came from Keading, and was going to Chalibnt. 



122 



EIiiC(jod arrested 



He asked why I travelled on that day. I told hhii 
I did not know it would give offence to ride or to 
walk on that day, so long as I did not drive any 
carriage or horses laden with burthens. ' Why,' 
said he, ' if your business was urgent, did you not 
take a pass from the mayor of Reading ?' ' Be- 
cause,' I replied, ' I did not know nor think I 
should have needed one.' ' Well,' said he, ' I will 
not talk with you now — it is time to go to church 
— but I will examine you further anon ;' and turn- 
ing to the constable, ' Have him to an mn, and 
bring him before me after dinner.' 

" The naming of an inn put me in mind that 
such public-houses were places of expense, and I 
knew I had no money to defray it, wherefore I said 
to the warden : ' Before thou sendest me to an inn, 
which may occasion some expense, I think it need- 
ful to acquaint thee that I have no money.' At 
that the warden stared, and turning quickly upon 
me said, ' How ! no money ! how can that be ? 
you don't look like a man that has no money.' 
"•' However I look,' said I, ' I tell thee the truth, 
that I have no money, and I toll it to forewarn 
thee that thou mayst not bring any charge upon 
the town.' ' I wonder,' said lie, ' what art you 
have got that you can travel without money ; you 
can do more, I assure you, than I can.' 

"I making no answer, he went on and said, 
' Well, well ! but if }'ou have no money, you have a 
good horse under }'ou, and we can distrain him for 



for traceillncj on, 'Suudatj.'' 123 

tlie charge. ' But,' said I, ' the horse is not mine !' 
' No ! but you have a good coat on your back, and 
I hope that is your own.' ' But it is not/ said I, 
' for I borrowed both the horse and the great coat.' 
With that the warden, holding up his hands, 
smiUng said, ' Bless me ! I never met with such a 
man as you are before ! What ! were you set out 
by the parish ?' Then, turning to the constable, 
he said, ^ Have him to The Greyhound, and bid the 
people be civil to him.' Accordingly, to The Grey- 
hound I was led, my horse put up, and I put into a 
large room, and some account given of me, I sup- 
pose, to the people of the house. 

" This was new work to me, and what the issue 
would be I could not foresee ; but being left there 
alone I sat down, and retired in spirit to the Lord, 
in whom alone was my strength and safety ; and 
of Him I begged support, even that He would be 
pleased to give me wisdom, and right words to 
answer the warden, when I should come to be ex- 
amined before him again. 

"After some time, having pen, ink, and paper 
about me, I set myself to write what I thought 
might be proper if occasion required, to give to 
the warden. While I was writing, the master of 
the house being come home from his worship, sent 
the tapster to me to invite me to dine with him. 
I bid him tell his master that I had no money to 
pay for dinner. He sent the man again to tell me 
I should be welcome to dine with him, though I 



124 



Ellwood arrested 



had no money. I desired him to telh his master 
that I was very sensible of his civility and kind- 
ness, in so courteously inviting me to his table, but 
that I had not freedom to eat of his meat unless I 
could pay for it. So he went on with his dinner, 
and I with my writing. But before I had finished 
what I had on my mind to write, the constable 
came again, bringing with him his fellow constable. 
This was a brisk genteel young man, a shopkeeper 
in the town, whose name was Cherry. They sa- 
luted me very civilly, and told me they came to 
take me before the warden. This put an end to 
my writing, which I put into m.j pocket and went 
along with them. 

" Being come to the warden, he asked me the 
same questions he had asked before, to which I 
gave him the like answers. Then he told me the 
penalty I had incurred ; which he said was either 
to pay so much money, or lie so many hours in the 
stocks, and asked me which I would choose. I 
replied, 'I shall not choose either, and I have 
already told thee I have no money ; though if I 
had money, I could not so far acknowledge myself 
an ofiender as to pay any. But as to lying in the 
stocks, I am in thy power, to do unto me what it 
shall please the Lord to suffer thee.' 

" When he heard that, he paused awhile, and 
then told me he considered I was but a young man, 
and might not perhaps understand the danger I 
had brougiit myself into, and therefore he would 



for travelling on ' Swiday' 125 

not exercise the severity the Lt.w awarded upon me. 
In hopes that I would be wiser hereafter, he would 
pass by this offence and discharge me. Then, put- 
ting on a countenance of the greatest gravity, he 
said, ^ But, young man, I would have you know 
that you have not only broken the law of the land, 
but also the law of God ; and therefore you ought 
to ask of Him forgiveness, for you have highly 
offended Him.' ' That,' said I, ' I would most wil- 
lingly do, if I were sensible I had offended Him by 
breaking any law of His.' ' Why,' said he, ' do you 
question that ?' ' Yes, truly,' said I, ' for I do not 
know of any law of God that doth forbid me to 
ride on this day.' ' No ! that is strange ! Where, 
I wonder, were you bred ? You can read, can't 
you ?' ' Yes,' said I, ' that I can.' ' Don't you then 
read,' said he, ' the commandment. Remember the 
jSahhath day to heep it holy. Six days sJialt tJiou 
lohour and do all thy worh ; hut the seventh is the 
Sahhatli of the Lord ; in it thou shalt not do any 
worlx,! ' Yes,' I replied, ' I have read it often, and 
remember it well. But that command was given 
to the Jews, not to Christians ; and this is not that 
day ; their Sabbath was the seventh day, but this 
is the first day of the week. ' How is it,' said he, 
^ you know the days of the week no better ? You 
need to be better taught.' 

" Here the younger constable, whose name was 
Cherry, interposing said, ' Mr. Warden, the gentle- 
man is right as to that^ for this is the first day of 



126 EJlwood arrested 

the week and not the seventh.' This the old 
warden took in dudgeon ; and looking severely on 
the constable said, ' What ! do you take upon you 
to teach me ? I'll have 3^ou know I will not be 
taught by you.' ^As you please for that, sir/ said 
the constable, ' but I am sure you are mistaken on 
this point ; for Saturday was the seventh day, and 
you know yesterday was Saturday.' 

" This made the warden hot and testy, and put 
him so out of patience that I feared it would have 
come to a downright quarrel betwixt them, for both 
were confident, and neither would yield. And so 
earnestly were they engaged in the contest, that 
there was no room for me to put in a word between 
them. At length the old man, having talked him- 
self out of wind, stood still awhile, as it were to 
take breath, and then bethinking of me he turned 
and said, ' You are discharged, and may take your 
liberty.' ' But,' said I, ' I desire my horse may be 
discharged too, else I know not how to go.' ^Aye, 
aye,' said he, ^you shall have your horse,' and, 
turning to the other constable who had not of- 
fended him, he said, ' Go see that his horse be 
delivered to him.' 

" Away thereupon went I with that constable, 
leaving the old warden and the young constable 
to compose their difference as they could. Being 
come to the inn, the constable called for my horse 
to be brought ; which done, I immediately mount- 
ed and began to set forward. But the hostler, not 



for traceUuii) on ^ Sun.d(Uj' 127 

knowing the condition of my pocket, said modestly 
to me, ' Sir, don't yon forget to pay for yonr horse^s 
standing ?' ' No trnly,' said I, ' I don't forget it, 
but I have no money to pay it with, and so I told 
the warden before he sent him here.' ' Hold your 
tongue/ said the constable, ' I'll see you paid.' 
Then, opening the gate, they let me out, the con- 
stable wishing me a good journey, and through 
the town I rode without further molestation; 
though it was as much the Sabbath, I thought, 
when I went out, as it was when I came in. 

'' A secret joy arose in me as I rode away, that 
I had been preserved from doing or saying any- 
thing which might give the adversaries of Truth 
advantage against it, and against the Friends; and 
praises sprang up in my thankful heart to the Lord 
my Preserver. It added not a little to my joy that 
I felt the Lord near unto me by His witness in my 
heart to check and warn me ; and that my spirit 
was so far subjected to Him as readily to take 
w^arning." With joy and thankful congratulations 
his friends at Chalfont welcomed his return. They 
had been anxious about him, knowing he intended 
to be with them at meeting that day. 

In allusion to the visit he was then making at 
the Grange, he says, " Great was the love and mani- 
fold the kindness which I received from my Avorthy 
friends, Isaac and Mary Penington, while I abode 
in their family. They were indeed as affectionate 
parents and tender nurses to me in that time of my 



128 Peniii(jio}i ujkJ Ulhcood imjrrisoned. 

religious childhood. For, beside their weighty and 
seasonable counsels, and exemplary conversations, 
they furnished me with the means to go to the 
other meetings of Friends in that country, when the 
meeting was not m their own house. But that I 
might not, on the one hand, bear too much on my 
friends, nor, on the other hand, forget the house of 
thraldom, after I had staid with them some six or 
seven weeks, from the time called Easter to that of 
"Whitsuntide, I took my leave of them, and re- 
turned home." 

Before the close of 1660, both Isaac Penington 
and Thomas Ellwood were made prisoners for 
obeying their conscience. They were confined in 
separate prisons, the former in that of Aylesbury, 
the latter in Oxford, for continuing to attend their 
own religious meetings. This step resulted from 
the outbreak of the Fifth Monarchy Men,* and the 

"'•" These were " a sect of religionists, whose distinguishing tenet was 
a belief in the coming of a fifth universal monarchy, of which Jesus 
Christ was to be the head, while the saints, under his personal sove- 
reignty, should possess the earth. They appeared in England towards 
the close of the Protectorate; and in 1660, a few months after the 
Eestoration, they broke out into a serious tumult in London under 
their leader Venner, in which many of them lost their lives, some 
being killed by the military, and others afterwards executed. Several 
Fifth Monarchy Men also suffered death in 1662, on a charge (most 
probably unfounded) of having conspired to kill the king and the Duke 
of York, to seize the Tower, etc. They are the same who were some- 
times called Millennarians, their notion being that the reign of Christ 
upon earth was to last for a thousand years. They seem also, from the 
extravagance and violence of conduct into which they occasionally 
broke out, to have been confounded, in the popular imagination, with 
the old Anabaptists of Munster." — Penny Cyclopaedia. 



Imprisonment of Quakers. 129 

discovery of some of tlieir ulterior designs, which 
doubtless caused uneasiness to the King;, thouaii 
they came from a comparatively small and impo- 
tent body. It is plain his alarm was stimulated to 
the utmost by the dominant party, in order to 
bring about persecuting enactments throughout the 
nation, against all who would not conform to the 
Church of England mode of worship. All, except 
those attached to the Established Church, were 
forbidden under severe penalties to assemble to- 
gether, lest whilst pretending to worship God they 
should plot against the government. This enact- 
ment the Friends did not think it was right to obey. 
They believed and acted on the belief that they 
must obey God rather than man, when man's laws 
were in conflict with those of God. They referred 
to the King's solemn pledge, that all should enjoy 
liberty of conscience ; and pleaded, as well they 
might, for a reasonable discrimination, and not to 
allow the wild fancies of a small body of fanatics to 
establish such a system of national tyranny. But 
their pleadings were all in vain; they were only 
met with the tender of the oaths of allegiance and 
supremacy, which it was well knuvvn they would 
refuse to take, on the ground of their Lord and 
Master having commanded his followers to " swear 
not at all." Then followed their incarceration. 

Thomas Ell wood was not imprisoned in the 
Castle at Oxford with the other Friends, bat 
separately confined in custody of the marshal. 



130 Loes letter to Elhoood. 

Thomas Loe, an Oxford Friend, and one of the pri- 
soners in the Castle, hearing of the circumstance, 
wrote him a letter, in which he says, " A time of 
trial God hath permitted to come upon us to try our 
faith and love to Him, and this will work for the 
good of them that through faith endure to the end. 
I believe God will be glorified through our stead- 
fastness in suffering, and His name exalted in the 
patience of His chosen ones. When I heard that 
thou wast called into this trial, with the servants of 
the Most High, to give thy testimony to the Truth 
of what we have believed, it came into my heart to 
write to thee. Well, my dear friend, let us live in 
the counsel of the Lord, and dwell in His strength, 
which gives power and sufficiency to endure all 
things for His name sake, and then the blessings of 
His heavenly kingdom shall be our portion. Oh ! 
dear heart, let us give up all freely unto the will of 
God, that our God may be glorified by us and we 
coiuforted together in the Lord Jesus ; which is the 
desire of my soul, who am thy dear and loving 
friend in the eternal Truth, 

"Thomas Loe." 
" P.S. We are more than forty here, who suffer 
innocently for the testimony of a good conscience, 
because we cannot swear, and break Christ's com- 
mands. We are all well, and the blessing and 
presence of God are felt to be with us. Friends 
here salute thee. Farewell. The power and wis- 
dom of the Lord God be with thee. Amen." 



Peningtons letter to Elhcood. 131 

Ellwood speaks thus of the above letter, " Greatly 
was my spirit refreshed and my heart gladdened at 
the reading of this consolating letter from my 
friend ; and my soul blessed the Lord for His love 
and tender goodness to me. But I had cause soon 
after to redouble my thankful acknowledgment to 
the Lord my God, who put it into the heart of my 
dear friend, Isaac Penington, also to visit me with 
some encouraging lines from Aylesbury jail, where 
he was then a prisoner, and from wdience he thus 
saluted me : — 

" Dear Thomas, 

" Great hath been the Lord's goodness to 
thee, in calling thee out of that path in which thou 
wast running towards destruction ; to give thee a 
living name and an inheritance amongst His joeo- 
ple, which certainly wdll be the end of faith in Him 
and obedience to Him. And let it not be a light 
thing in thine ej^es, that He now accounteth thee 
worthy to suffer amongst his chosen lambs. Oh ! 
that the spiritual eye and heart may be kept open 
in thee, which seeth and feeleth the value of these 
things. 

"Aylesbury Jail, 14th of the T\yelfth Month, 1G60/' 

" Though these epistolary visits," says Ellwood, 
"were very comfortable and confirming to me, and 
my heart was thankful to the Lord for them, yet I 
honed after personal conversation with mv friends; 



1?2 



Ellvjood llhcrated. 



and it was hard, I thought, that there should be so 
many faithful servants of God so near me, yet that 
I should not be permitted to enjoy their company. 
For though my marshal-keeper was very kind to 
me, and allowed me the liberty of his house, yet he 
was not willing I should be seen abroad. Once, 
and but once, I prevailed on him to let me see my 
friends in the Castle ; and it was on these con- 
ditions he consented — that I should not go forth 
till it was dark, that I should muffle myself up in 
my cloak, and that I would not stay out late : all 
which I punctually observed." 

The magistrates, who had arranged for young 
Ellwood being kept apart from the Quaker pri- 
soners in the castle, seem to have been influenced 
by the hope of his being ultimately induced by 
such means to give up his connection with the 
Friends. They could but little appreciate the 
depth of his convictions when they entertained the 
thought. His father had been from home when he 
was made prisoner, and at his intercession on his 
return he was promptly released. But the Friends 
in Oxford Castle and also those in Aylesbury jail, 
including Isaac Penington, remained in prison for 
several months. 

The following letters are from the Penington 
Manuscripts, in the Devonshire House Library: — 



Isaac Peiiington in prison. 133 

Isaac Penington to Ids lolfe. 

"Aylesbury Jail, l7th, 1st Month, 1661. 

" My Dear, 

" Yesterday I, with some few others, was sent 
for before the court. The judge asked me if I would 
take the oath. I dehvered him a paper, which 
was an appeal to the court whether it was fitting 
for us, as the case stood, to take the oath. He 
thought it had been the paper delivered him be- 
fore by Friends in other j)laces, and so asked me 
again about the oath. I told him the paper was an 
appeal to him and the court, and desired it might 
be read, that the court should hear it, which he en- 
deavoured to put off; but I pressing it hard as 
exceedingly necessary, he promised it should by 
and by, but called on some other business, and so 
we were ordered to withdraw for the present, but 
w^ere called in no more. I am told we are ap- 
pointed to appear to-morrow, at the sixth hour in 
the morning ; what further they will propose to us 
I do not know. It is believed they will release 
some and detain others. William stays to know : 
whom I suppose thou mayst expect to-morrow 
ni2:ht. 

o 

" My dear heart, my dear and tender love is to 
thee. I know thou dost believe that it is most just 
that the Lord should dispose of me, and will not 
desire me unless He please in the freedom of con- 
science that I return to thee. I am thine very 



134 Penlmjtoii in court. 

much and desire to be thine even more, according 
to the purity and largeness of my love in the inner 
man. When the Lord pleaseth our innocence shall 
be cleared, and that which is now our reproach be 
our beauty and honour in the sight of all the Avorld. 
" My dear love to Guli, to A. H., and to all 
Friends in the familj^, and to my dear little ones. 

'^ I. P." 



Isaac Penington to Ms Wife. 

" My dear, 

"When I was called before the judge 
on the second day, he again asked vclQ if I would 
take the oath. I answered I had put in an appeal 
to the court respecting it. He did not much press 
it on me, but took a paper of J. W. containing the 
substance of the oath, which the justices, as we 
were told, had looked into and confessed that it 
was the substance of the oath, and that there 
wanted nothing but the formality. At last he told 
me I must put in sureties for the peace, which I 
said I durst not do. The next morning I was 
brought before him again with J. W. and J. Brierly. 
Then he told me he would not require the oath of 
me, nor yet sureties for the peace, but'he had heard 
I was the son of such a person, &c., and therefore 
could do no less than require sureties of me for the 
])eri()rnumce of what was promised in the paper, to 
wit^ that I would neither plot nor conceal any plot 



PenbKjton in court. 135 

which I knew or did certainly hear of. Thi.s^ as 
far as I remember, was the substance. I was sore 
distressed, and had not a word to say for a long 
season ; but my soul breathed to the Lord to pre- 
serve my innocence, and to make me willing to 
stand as a fool before them, if He did not give uie 
wherewith to answer them. Indeed I felt that I 
could not do the thing ; but how to avoid it, with 
the reasonableness and fair dealing which appeared 
to be on their side, I knew not. At length I told 
the judge that as to keeping out of plotting, &c., I 
could easily do that, but to come under such a 
bond I could not. Then he and the officers of the 
court much disdained and derided me, and asked 
if I did not take bond of my tenants, &c., which 
the Lord enabled me to bear with meekness and 
stillness of spirit. Then I told him that I could 
give under my hand what he required, which was 
more to me than a bond, but it weighed little with 
him. I likewise told him I was so fin- from plot- 
ting, notwithstanding that I had lost my whole 
estate, that I did never so much as grumble in my 
mind, or wish the change of government that I 
might enjoy my estate again. He seemed to be 
satisfied concerning my innocence, and said that he 
believed I would keep my promise, yet he could ( o 
no less than require this of me, considering what 
vny father was.''' 

^ It should be remembered that Alderman Penington was then a 
State prisoi'^ir in the Tower. 



136 Pe)f!i!(;f()}) hi court. 

" So lie coiiiiiiitted me, ivfcrring me to the jus- 
tices to be released either upon my own recogni- 
zance, or upon sureties. Since which time three 
of the justices sent for me to the White Hart, with 
whom I was a pretty season ; they seemed very 
willing to release me, urging me much either to 
enter into bond myself, or put in sureties, but they 
were tied down to these by the judge's order, which 
they could not recede from. I told them I was in- 
nocent in the sight of the Lord, and did in my 
heart believe the Lord would justify me in this at 
the great day, but that I durst not do what did 
appear to me to cast any cloud or doubt over my 
innocency. I asked what I or the sureties were to 
be bound in ; he said, I in £200, or the sureties in 
<£100 each. I told him if I had any estate left me 
that was my own, I could freely subscribe myself 
willing to bear the penalty of £400, if I were 
found in any such thing. Nay, I did not care to 
what amount I ran, so free I was from any such 
danger, but to be bound in the way the case stood 
I could not. Since this last refusal I have found 
great peace and satisfaction from the Lord concern- 
ing this aiiair, and great rest in my spirit. Let all 
that love me bless the Lord for me in this, for I see 
clearly I had been a miserable man had I been suf- 
fered for the gaining of my libert}^ to have betrayed 
mine innocency." 

We have no account of the precise time or cir- 
cumstances under which Isaac Penington and his 



Peniiigtous release. 137 

friends were released from imprisonment, but tlicro 
are evidences which prove it must have been pretty 
early in 1661. Although he alludes in the above 
letter to all his estate having been confiscated, thus 
leaving him no property he could call his own, yet 
we find that he continued for years after this to re- 
side at the Grange, which leads to the conclusion 
that there had been, after the death of Alderman 
Penington, some arrangement made or tacit per- 
mission given, by which the Chalfont estate was 
not claimed for the four or five following years. 



CHAPTER V. 

1662. 

Thomas Ellwood's desire to cultivate liis knowledge of Latin. — His in- 
troduction to John Milton. — He finally leaves CroAvell and settles in 
London. — Becomes reader to Milton. — His enjoyment of that privi- 
lege. — Is imprisoned with other Friends in Old Bridewell. — Trial. — 
Lnprisonment in Newgate. — Crowded state of that jail. — Prison life. 
— Inquest at Xewgate. — Removal to Old Bridewell. — Is released. — 
Visits his friends in Newgate. — Visits Milton. — Goes to Chalfont. — 
Is engaged as tutor at the Grange. — His grief at the death of Edward 
Burrough. 

When relating his own history, Thomas Ell- 
wood gives us a few glimpses into circumstances 
in the life of the poet Milton at the period which 
succeeded the Restoration. He thus tells of the 
occasion which led to their first acquaintance. 

" I mentioned before that when I wa.s a boj I 
had made good progress in [classical] learning, and 
lost it again before I became a man ; nor was I 
rightly sensible of my loss therein until I came 
among the Quakers. But then I both saw my loss 
and lamented it, and applied myself with the ut- 
most diligence at all leisure times to recover it ; so 
false I found that charge which in those times was 
cast as a reproach on the Quakers, that they de- 
138 



Mhoood infrochtced to Milton, 



139 



spised and decried all human learning, because tliey 
denied it to be essentially necessary to a Gospel 
ministry. But though I toiled hard, and spared no 
pains to regain what once I had been master of, 
yet I found it matter of so great difficulty, that I 
was ready to say, as said the noble Ethiopian to 
Philip, ' How can I, unless some man guide me ?' 
This I had formerly complained of to my friend 
Isaac Penington, but now more earnestly, which 
put him upon considering and contriving a means 
for my assistance. He had intimate acquaintance 
with Dr. Paget, a physician of note in London, and 
he with John Milton, a gentleman of great repute 
for learning throughout the learned world. This 
person having filled a public station in former times 
lived now a private and retired/ life in London, and 
having wholly lost his sight, kept always a man to 
read for him, who usually was the son of some 
gentleman of his acquaintance whom in kindness 
he took to improve in his learning. 

" Thus by the mediation of my friend Isaac Pen- 
ington with Dr. Paget, and of Dr. Paget with John 
Milton, was I permitted the liberty of coming to 
his house at certain hours when I would, and to 
read to him what books he should appoint me, 
which was the favour I desired. But this being a 
matter which required some arrangement to luring 
about, I in the mean time returned to my father's 
house in Oxfordshire. 

"' I had previously received directions by letters 



140 EUwood introduced to Milton. 

from my eldest sister, written by my father's com- 
mand, to sell off what cattle he had left about his 
house, and to discharge his servants, which I had 
done at the time called Michaelmas. All that winter 
when I was at home I lived like a hermit all alone, 
having a pretty large house and nobody in it but my- 
self, especially at nights ; an elderly woman, whose 
father had been an old servant in the family, came 
every morning and did whatever I had for her to do." 
Finding through his sister's correspondence that 
his father had decided to reside no more at Crowell, 
but finally to dispose of the property, he deter- 
mined not to lose time there, but hasten to carry 
out his favorite project. He says, " I committed 
the care of the house to a tenant of my father's who 
lived in the town, and, taking my leave of Crowell, 
went up again to my sure friend Isaac Penington ; 
where, understanding that through the mediation 
used for my admittance to John Milton, I might 
come now when I would, I hastened to London. 
He received me courteously, as well for the sake of 
Dr. Paget who introduced me, as of Isaac Pening- 
ton who recommended me ; to both of whom he 
bore a good respect. Having inquired divers 
things of me with respect to my former progression 
in learning, he dismissed me to provide myself such 
accommodations as might be most suitable to my 
future studies. I went therefore, and took myself a 
lodging as near to his house, which was then in 
Jewyn-street, as conveniently' I could. From thence 



Milton as a classical teacJie7\ 141 

forward I went every day in the afternoon, except 
on the first day of the week ; and, sitting by him in 
his dining-room, read to him in such books in the 
Latin tongue as he pleased to liear me read. 

" At my first reading to him, observing that I 
used the Enghsh pronunciation, he told me that if 
I would not only read and understand Latin 
authors, but be able to converse with foreigners 
either abroad or at home, I must learn the foreign 
pronunciation. To this consenting, he instructed 
me how to sound the vowels ; so difierent from the 
common pronunciation used by the English, who 
Anglice their Latin. 

" I had before, during my retired life at my 
father's, by unwearied diligence and industry so far 
recovered the rules of grammar, in which I had 
once been very ready, that I could both read a 
Latin author after a sort, and hammer out his 
meaning. But the change of pronunciation proved 
a new difficulty to me. It was now harder to me 
to read than it was before to understand when 
read. But 

Incessant pains 
The end attains ; 

and so did I ; which made my reading the more 
acceptable to my master. For he, perceiving with 
what earnest desire I pursued learning, gave me 
not only all the encouragement but all the help he 
could. For, having a curious ear, he discerned by 
my tone when I understood what I read, and when 



142 Elhcood an invalid. 

I did not; and would accordingly stop me, ex- 
amine me, and open the most difficult passages to 
me. 

" Thus went I on for about six weeks' time, read- 
ing to Iiim in the afternoons, and exercising myself 
^vith my own books in my chamber in the fore- 
noons. But, alas ! London and I could never 
agree. My lungs, I suppose, were too tender to 
bear the city air; so I soon began to droop, and 
in less than two months time I was fain to leave 
both my studies and the city, and return to the 
country in order to preserve life ; and much ado I 
had to get thither. 

" I chose to go down to Wycombe to John 
Eance's house ; both as he was a physician, and his 
wife a discreet and grave matron, whom I had a 
very good esteem for, and who I knew had a good 
regard for me. There I lay ill a considerable 
time, and in that degree of weakness that scarcely 
any one who saw me expected my life. But the 
Lord was both gracious to me in my illness, and 
wv-s pleased to raise me up again, that I might 
serve him in my generation. 

" As soon as I had recovered sufficient strength 
to l^e fit to travel, I obtained of my father (who 
Avas then at his house at Crowell to dispose of 
some things, and in my illness had come to see me) 
as much money as would meet all the expenses of 
my illness, which having paid I took leave of my 
friends there and returned to \\\\ studies in Lon- 



Ellwood imprisoned. 143 

don. I was very kindly received by my master, 
who had conceived so good an opinion of me, that 
my conversation, I found, was acceptable to him, 
and he seemed heartily glad of my recovery and 
return ; and into our old method of study w^e fell 
again, I reading to him, and he explaining to me 
as occasion required. 

" But as if learning had been a forbidden fruit 
to me, scarcely was I well settled in my work when 
I met with another interruption. A sudden storm, 
arising from I know not what surmise of a plot, 
the meetings of Dissenters (such, I mean, as could 
be found, which perhaps were not many beside the 
Quakers) were broken up throughout the city, and 
most of the prisons filled with our friends. I was 
that morning, which was the 26th of the Eighth 
month, 1662, at the meeting at the Bull and Mouth 
by Aldersgate, when on a sudden a party of sol- 
diers of the trained bands of the city rushed in 
witli noise and clamour, being led by one called 
Major Rose well, an apothecary, if I misremember 
not, and at that time under the ill name of a pa- 
pist. As soon as he was come within the room, 
having a file or two of musketeers at his heels, he 
commanded his men to present his muskets at us, 
which they did ; with intent I suppose to strike 
'terror into the people. Then he made a proclama- 
tion, that all might depart if they would who were 
not Quakers. 

"It so happened that a young man, an apprentice 



144 Elhoood imprisoned. 

in London^ whose name was Dove — the son of 
Dr. Dove, of Chinner near Crowell — came that day 
in curiosity to see the meeting, and finding me 
there whom he knew, sat down by nie. As soon as 
he heard the noise of soldiers he was much startled, 
and asked me softly if I would not shift for myself, 
and try to get out. I told him no ; I was in my 
place, and was willing to suffer if it was my lot. 
When he found the notice given, that they who 
were not Quakers might depart, he again solicited 
me to go. I told him I could not, for that would 
be to renounce my profession, which I would by no 
means do. But as for him, who was not one of us, 
he might do as he pleased. Whereupon, wishing 
me well, he turned away, and with cap in hand 
went out. And truly I was glad he was gone, for 
his master was a rigid Presbyterian, who in all 
likelihood would have led him a wretched life had 
he been taken and imprisoned among the Quakers. 
"The soldiers came so early that the meeting 
was not fully gathered when they came, and when 
the mixed company were gone out, we were so few 
in that large room that they might take a clear 
view of us all, and single us out as they pleased. 
He that commanded the party gave us first a 
general charge to come out of the room. But we 
who came thither at God's requirings to worship 
Him, like that good man of old who said, ' Y^e 
ought to obey God rather than man,' stirred not, 
but kept our places. Whereupon he sent some of 



EJhcood tahen to Old BrideiceU. 145 

his soldiers among us, with command to drag or 
drive us out, which they did roughly enough. 

" When we came into the street, we were re- 
ceived there by other soldiers, who with their pikes 
holden lengthways from one to another, encom- 
passed us round, as sheep in a pound ; and there 
we stood a pretty time, while they were picking up 
more to add to our number. In this work none 
seemed so eager and so active as Major Rosewell. 
Which observing, I stepped boldly to him as he 
was passing, and asked if he intended a massacre : 
for of that in those times there was a great appre- 
hension and talk. The suddenness of the question 
somewhat startled him ; but, recollecting himself, 
he answered : ' No ; but I intend to have you all 
hanged by the wholesome laws of the land.' When 
he had gotten as many as he thought fit, in number 
thirty-two, whereof two were caught in the street 
who had not been at the meeting, he ordered the 
pikes to be opened before us ; and giving the word, 
' March,' went himself at our head, the soldiers with 
their pikes making a lane to keep us from scattering. 

"He led us up St. Martin's, and turned down 
to Newgate, where I expected he would lodge us. 
But to my disappointment he went on through 
NcAvgate, and turning through the Old Bailey, 
brought us into Fleet-street. I was then wholly 
at a loss to conjecture whither he would lead us, 
unless it were to Whitehall ; for I knew nothing 
then of Old Bridewell ; but on a sudden he gave a 



146 Ellwood in Old Brideioell. 

short turn, and brought us before the gate of that 
prison, where knocking, the wicket was opened, and 
the master with his porter stood ready to receive us. 

" One of those two who were picked up in the 
street being near me, and telling me his case, I 
stepped to the major and told him that this man 
was not at the meeting, but was taken up in the 
street ; and showed . him how hard and unjust a 
thing it would be to put him into prison. I had 
not pleased him before in the question I had put to 
him about a massacre ; and that I suppose made 
this expostulation less acceptable to him from me 
than it might have been from another. For, look- 
ing sternly at me, he said, ' Who are you that take 
so much upon you ? Seeing you are so busy, you 
shall be the first that shall go into Bridewell,' and, 
taking me by the shoulders, he thrust me in. 

"The porter, pointing with his finger, directed 
me to a pair of stairs on the further side of a large 
court, and bid me go up them, and go on till I 
could go no further. Accordingly I went up the 
stairs ; the first flight whereof brought me to a 
fair chapel on my left hand, which I could look 
into through the iron grates, but could not have 
gone into if I would. I knew that was not the place 
for me ; wherefore, following my direction, and the 
winding of the stairs, I went up a story higher, 
which brought me into a room that I soon per- 
ceived to be a court-room or place of judicature. 
After I had taken a view of it, observing a door on 



Elhvood in Old BrideiveU. 147 

! 

the further side I opened it, but quickly drew back, ] 
being almost affrighted at the dismalness of the 
place. For, besides that the walls quite round were 
laid all over from top to bottom in black, there 
t^tood in the middle of it a great whipping-post, 
which was all the furniture it had. In one of these 1 
rooms judgment was given, and in the other it was ; 
executed, on those wdio for their lewdness were 
sent to this prison and there sentenced to be whip- 
ped. It was so contrived that the court might not 
only hear, but see, their sentence executed. A 
sight so unexpected and withal so unpleasing gave 
me no encouragement to rest there; looking ear- 
nestly around, I espied on the opposite side a door 
which gave hopes of a further progress. I stepped ^ 
hastily to it, and opened it. This let me into one j 
of the fairest rooms that, as far as I remember, I '' 
was ever in ; and no wonder ; for though it was J 
now put to this mean use, this house had for many 
ages been the royal palace of the Kings of Eng- 
land, until Cardinal Wolsey built Whitehall, and \ 
presented it as a peace-offering to King Henry the ; 
Eighth, who till then had held his court here ; and 
this room was called the King's Dining-room. In 
length it was threescore feet, and had breadth 
proportionable. On the front side were very large 
bay windows, in which stood a large table. It had ; 
other very large tables in it, with benches round, 
and at that time the floor was covered with rushes. \ 
"Here was my nil idtra, and here I found I 



148 Ellwood in Old Bridewell. 

might set up my pillar. So, having followed my 
keeper's direction to the utmost point, I sat down, 
and considered that rhetorical saying that ' the 
way to heaven lay by the gate of hell ;' the black 
room being regarded as bearing some resemblance 
to the latter, as this comparatively might in some 
sort bear to the former. But I was quickly put 
from these thoughts by the flocking in of the other 
Friends, my fellow-prisoners ; amongst whom, when 
they were all come together, there was but one 
whom I knew so much as by face, and with him I 
had no acquaintance; for, having been but a little 
while in the city, and in that time kept close to my 
studies, I was by that means known to very few. 

"As before hinted, it was a general storm which 
fell that day, but it alighted most heavily on 
Friends' meetings ; so that most of the men Friends 
were made prisoners, and the prisons generally 
were filled. And great work had the women 
Friends to run about from prison to prison, to find 
their husbands, their fathers, their brothers, or their 
servants ; for, according as they disposed of them- 
selves to the various meetings, so were they dis- 
persed to the various prisons. And no little care 
and pains had they, when they had found them, to 
furnish them with provisions and other necessary 
accommodations. 

" An excellent order, even in those early daj^s, 
was practiced among the Friends of London, by 
which there were certain individuals of cither sex 



Short commons. 149 

a])pointed to have the oversight of the prisons in 
every quarter, and to take care of all Friends, the 
poor especially, that should be committed thither. 
This prison of Bridewell was under the care of two 
honest, grave, discreet, and motherly women, whose 
names were Anne Travers and Anne Merrick, both 
widows. They, as soon as they understood there 
were Friends brought into that prison, provided 
some hot victuals, meat, and broth, for the weather 
was cold ; ordering their servants to bring these 
things, with bread, cheese, and beer; came them- 
selves also, and having placed all on a table, gave 
notice to us that it was provided for those who had 
not others to provide for them, or were not able to 
provide for themselves; and there was no defi- 
ciency among us of a competent number of such 
guests. 

"As for my part, though I had lived as frugally as 
possibly I could, that I might draw out the thread 
of my little stock to the utmost length, yet had 
I by this time reduced it to tenpence, which was 
all the money I had about me, or anywhere else at 
my command. This was but a small estate to enter 
upon an imprisonment with ; yet was I not at all 
discouraged at it, nor had I a murmuring thought. 
I had known what it was moderately to abound, 
and if I should now come to suffer want, I knew I 
ought to be content ; and through the grace of God 
I was so. I had lived by Providence before, when 
for a long time I had no money at all ; and I had 



150 Elhoood ill Old Brideivell. 

always found the Lord a good provider. I made 
no doubt, therefore, that He who sent the ravens to 
feed Elijah, and who clothes the lilies of the field, 
would find means to sustain me with needful food 
and raiment. 

"Although the sight and smell of hot food was 
sufficiently enticing, for I had eaten little that 
morning, and was hungry, yet, considering the 
terms of the invitation, I questioned my being in- 
cluded in it, and after some reasoning concluded 
that, while I had tenpence in ni}^ pocket, I should 
be but an intruder to that mess, which was provid- 
ed for such as perhaps had not twopence in theirs. 
Being come to this resolution, I withdrew as far 
from the table as I could, and sat down in quiet re- 
tirement of mind till the repast was over, which was 
not long; for there were hands enough at it to 
make light work of it. When evening arrived, the 
porter came up the back-stairs, and opening the 
door told us that if we desired to have anything 
that was to be had in the house, he would bring it 
to us ; for there was in the house a chandler's shop, 
where bread, beer, butter, cheese, eggs, and bacon 
might be had for money. Upon which many went 
to liim, and spake for what of these things they had 
a mind to, giving their money to pay for them. 
Among the rest went I, and intending to spin out 
my tenpence as far as 1 could, desired him to bring 
me a penny loaf only. When he returned, we all 
resorted to him to receive our several portions 5 



Sleeps on rushes. 151 

when he came to me, he told me he could not get a 
penny loaf but two halfpenny loaves. This suited 
me better ; wherefore, returning to my place again, 
I sat down and eat up one of my loaves, reserving 
the other for the next day. This was to me both 
dinner and supper ; and so well satisfied was I with 
it, that I would willingly then have gone to bed, if 
I had one to go to ; but that was not to be expect- 
ed there, nor had any one bedding brought in that 
night. Some of the company had been so con- 
siderate as to send for a pound of candles, that we 
might not sit all night in the dark. Having light- 
ed divers of them, and placed them in several parts 
of that large room, we kept walking to keep us 
warm. 

" After I had thus warmed myself, and the even- 
ing was pretty far spent, I bethought me of a lodg- 
ing, and cast my eye on the table which stood in 
the bay-window, the frame whereof looked, I 
thought, somewhat like a bedstead. Willing to 
make sure, I gathered up a good armful of the 
rushes wherewith the floor was covered, and spread- 
ing them under the table, crept in on them in my 
clothes, and keeping on my hat, laid my head on 
one end of the table's frame instead of a bolster. 
My example was followed by the rest, who gathered 
up rushes as I had done, made themselves beds in 
other parts of the room, and so to rest we went. 
Having a quiet, easy mind, I was soon asleep, and 
t4e')t till about the middle of the nifiht. Then 



IC2 



Elhcood la Old BrtdeiveU. 



awaking, and finding my legs and feet very cold, I 
crept out of my cabin and began to walk about. 
This waked and raised all the rest, who finding 
themselves cold as well as I, got up and walked 
about with me till we had pretty well warmed our- 
selves, and then we all lay down again and rested 
till morning. 

'^ Next day all they who had families or belonged 
to families in the city, had bedding brought in of 
one sort or other, which they disposed at the ends 
and sides of the room, leaving the middle void to 
walk in. But I, who had nobody to look after me, 
kept to my rushy pallet under the table for four 
nights, in which time I did not put off my clothes; 
yet, through the goodness of God to me, I rested 
and slept well, and enjoj^ed health, without taking 
cold. In this time divers of our company, through 
the solicitations of some of their relations or ac- 
quaintances to Sir Richard Brown, who was at that 
time Master of Misrule in the city, and over Bride- 
well more especially, were released ; and among 
these one William Mucklow, who lay on a ham- 
mock. He having observed that I only was unpro- 
vided, came very courteously to mfe, and kindly 
offered me the use of his hammock. This was a 
providential accommodation to me, which I re- 
ceived thankfally, both as from the Lord and from 
him. From thenceforward I thought I lay as well 
whilst I staid tliere as ever I had done in m}^ life. 

''Among tliu^^e that reuuiiiied, there were several 



Is provident kill y supplied. 153 

young men who cast themselves into a chijj, and 
laying down every one an equal portion of money, 
put it into the hand of our friend Anne Travers, 
desiring her to lay it out for them in provisions, 
and send them in every day a mess of hot meat ; 
and they kindly invited me to come into their club 
with them. They saw my person, and judged me 
by that, but they saw not my purse, nor under- 
stood the lightness of my pocket. But I, who 
alone understood it, knew I must sit down with 
lower commons. Wherefore, without giving them 
the reason as fairly as I could, I excused myself 
from entering at present into their mess. And 
before my tenpence was quite spent, my Heavenly 
Father, on whom I relied, sent me a fresh supph^ 
" William Penington, a brother of Isaac Pening- 
ton, a Friend, and a merchant in London, at whose 
house before I came to live in the city I was wont 
to lodge, having been at his brother's that daj' on a 
visit escaped the storm, and so was at liberty ; and 
understanding when he came back, what had been 
done, bethought himself of me, and hearing where 
I was, came in love to see me. In discourse 
amongst other things he asked me how it was with 
me as to money : I told him I could not boast of 
much, and yet I could not saj' I had none ; though 
what I then had was indeed next to none. Where- 
upon he put twent}' shillings into ni}' hand, and de- 
sired me to accept of that for the present. I s;nv 
the Divine hand in thus opening in this manner to 



154 EUii'oiHi lit Old ]j rule icdl. 

me his heart and hand; and I received it Avitli 
thankful acknowledginent, as a token of love from 
the Lord and from him. 

'' On the Seventh-day he went down again as 
usual to Chalfont ; and in discourse gave an ac- 
count of my imprisonment. Whereupon, on his 
return the Second-day Ibllowing, my aliectionate 
friend Mary Penington sent me forty shillings, 
which he soon after brought me. Not many days 
after this I received twenty shillings from my 
father, who, understanding I was a prisoner in 
Bridewell, sent me this money to sujoport me there. 
Now was my pocket, from the lowest ebb, risen to 
a full tide. I was at the brink of want, next door 
to nothing, yet my coniidence did not Diil, nor my 
faith stagger ; and on a sudden came plentiful sup- 
plies, shower upon shower, so that I abounded; yet 
in humility could say, ' This is the Lord's doings.' 
And without defrauding any of the instruments of 
the acknowledgments due unto them, mine eye 
looked over and beyond them to my Heavenly 
Father, whom I saw was the author thereof, and 
with thankful heart I returned praises and thanks- 
givings to liim. And this goodness of the Lord 
to me I thus record, to the end that all into whose 
hands this may come, nu\y be encouraged to trust 
in Ilim whose mercy is over all liis works, and who 
is indeed a God near at hand to help in the needful 
time. Now 1 durst venture myself into the club to 
which 1 had bvcn inxiLcd, and accordingly (^having 



M(ik<:n lu'jId-i'KxlHtcoai!^. i cc 

by thiH time gained acquaintance with theruj took 
an opportunity to cast my.self* arnon^r theni ; and 
thencriiorvvard, so long as we continued prisoners 
together, 1 was one of tlieir mess. 

"The chief thing I now wanted was employ- 
ment, which scarcely any wanted but myself, for 
the rest of my company were generally tradesmen, 
and of such trades as could set themselves t(j work 
ther(i. Of these, divers were tailors — some masters, 
some journeymen — and with these I most inclined 
to settle. But because I was too much a novice in 
their art to be trusted with any of their work, I got 
work from a hosier in Cheapside; which was to 
ma.ke night-waistcoats of red and yellow flannel, for 
women and children. And with this I entered my- 
S(^lf among the tailors, sitting cross-legged as they 
did; and so spent those leisure hours with inno- 
cency and pleasure, which want of business would 
have made tedious." 

Thus circumstanced, these prisoners were con- 
tinued in Bridewell for two months, without being 
brought before any magistrate to have accusation 
made against them. And when at last they were 
brought up, it seemed merely to have the oaths of 
allegiance and supremacy tendered. The prisoners 
complained of the illegality of their imprisonment, 
and desired to know what they Ijad lain so long in 
prison for. To this the Recorder replied, " If you 
tiiink you have been wrongfully imprisoned you 
have your remedy at law, and may take it if you 



156 Ell wood removed to Newgate. 

think it worth your while. The court may send 
for any man out of the street, and tender him the 
oath ; so we take no notice of how you came hither, 
but, finding you here, we tender you the oath of 
allegiance, which if you refuse to take we shall 
commit you, and at length premunire you." Ac- 
cordingly, as each of the Friends was brought uj^, 
and declined to take the oaths, he was set aside and 
another called. The final process of declaring 
them outlaws, to be imprisoned for life, was left for 
a future occasion. When all were gone over, in- 
stead of being sent back to Bridewell, they were 
committed to Newgate, where a circumstance oc- 
curred which I shall leave Thomas Ellwood to nar- 
rate. His description brings strikingly before us 
the crowded state of the London prisons, showing 
the recklessness of that spirit of religious persecu- 
tion which filled them. No marvel that, eventually, 
at its culmination, plague and pestilence swept over 
the city. He says : — 

" When we came to Newgate we found that side 
of the prison very full of Friends, who were pri- 
soners there before us ; as indeed were all the other 
parts of that prison, and most of the other prisons 
about the town ; and our addition caused a still 
greater throng on that side of Newgate. We had 
the liberty of the hall, which is on the first story 
over the gate, and which in the daytime is common 
to all the prisoners on that side, felons as well as 
others. But in the night we all lodged in one 



A coro7iers inquest, 157 

rovom, wliicli was large and round, having in the 
middle of it a great pillar of oaken timber, which 
bore up the chapel that is over it. To this pillar 
we fastened our hammocks at one end, and to the 
opposite wall on the other end, quite round the 
room, in three stories one over the other ; so that 
they who lay in the upper and middle row of ham- 
mocks were obliged to go to bed first, because they 
were to climb up to the higher by getting into the 
lower ones. And under the lower range of ham- 
mocks, b}' the wall sides, were laid beds upon the 
floor, in which the sick and weak prisoners lay. 
There were many sick and some very weak, and 
though we were not long there, one of our fellow- 
prisoners died. 

" The body of the deceased, being laid out and 
put in a coffin, was set in a room called ' The 
Lodge,' that the coroner might inquire into the 
cause of his death. The manner of their doing it is 
this. As soon as the coroner is come, the turnkeys 
run into the street under the gate, and seize upon 
every man that passes till they have got enough to 
make up the coroner's inquest. It so happened at 
this time, that they lighted on an ancient man, a 
grave citizen, who was trudging through the gate 
in great haste, and him they laid hold on, telling 
him he must come in and serve upon the inquest. 
He pleaded hard, begged and besought them to let 
him go, assuring them he was going on very urgent 
business. But they were deaf to all entreaties. 



irS ^4. coroifcr-^ Inquest. 

When tlioy had got their complement, «ind were 
shut in together, the others said to this ancient 
man, ' Come, father, you are the oldest among us ; 
YOU shall 1k^ our torenuni.' When the coroner had 
sworn the jury, the coliin was uncovered, that they 
might look upon the body. But the old man said 
to them, ' To what purpose do you show us a dead 
body here ? You would not have us think that this 
man died in this room ! How shall we be able to 
judge how this man came by his death, unless we 
see the place where he died, and where he hath 
been kept prisoner before he died ? How know we 
but that the incommodiousness of the place wherein 
he was kept may have occasioned his death ? There- 
fore show us the place wherein this man died.' 

This much displeased the keepers, and they 
began to banter tlie old man, thinking to beat him 
oft' it. But he stood up tightly to them : ' Come, 
come,' said he, ' though you made a fool of me in 
bringing me hither, ye shall not find me a child 
now I am here. Mistake not; for I understand 
]ny place and your duty; and I require you to 
conduct me and my brethren to the place where 
this man died. Refuse it at your peril !' They 
now wished they had let the old man go about 
his business, rather than by troubling him have 
brought this trouble on themselves. But when he 
persisted in his resolution, the coroner told them 
they must show him the place. 

" It was evenin.g when they began, and by this 



A coroihv'f; inquest. 159 

time it was bed-time, with us, so that we had taken 
down our hammocks, which in the day hung by the 
walls, and had made them ready to go into and 
were undressing, when on a sudden we heard a 
great noise of tongues and trampling of feet comiug 
towards us. By and hy one of the turnkeys, open- 
ing our door, said : ^ Hold ! hold ! do not undress ; 
here is the coroner's inquest coming to see you.' 
As soon as they were come to the do(jr (for within 
it there was scarcely room for them to come) the 
foremen who led them, lifting up his hands, said : 
' Lord bless me, what a sight is here ! I did not 
thiidv there had been so much cruelty in the hearts 
of Englishmen to use Englishmen in this manner ! 
We need not now question,' said he to the rest 
of the jury, ' how this man came by his death ; we 
may rather wonder that they are not all dead, for 
this place is enough to breed an infection among 
them. Well,' added he, ^if it please God to 
lengthen my life till to-morrow, I will find means 
to let the King know how his subjects are dealt 
with here.' 

" Whether he did so or not I cannot tell ; but I 
am apt to think he applied himself to the mayor or 
the sheriffs of London ; for the next day one of the 
sheriffs, called Sir William Turner, aAvoollen draper 
in Paul's-yard, came, and ordering the porter of 
Bridewell to attend him to Newgate, sent up a 
turnkey amongst us, to bid all the Bridtnvell pri- 
soners come down to him ; for thev kne\v us not, 



i6o EUwooJ rciarns to Old Bridewell, 

but we knew our own company. Being come be- 
fore him in the press-yard, he looked kindly on us, 
and spake courteously to us. ' Gentlemen,' said 
he, ' I understand the prison is very full, and I am 
sorry for it. I wish it were in my power to release 
you and the rest of your friends who are in it. But, 
since I cannot do that, I am willing to do what I 
can for you. And therefore I am here to inquire 
how it is. I would now have all you who came 
from Bridewell return thither again, which will 
give better accommodation to you ; and your re- 
moval will give more room to those that are left 
behind ; and here is your old keeper, the porter of 
Bridewell, to attend you thither.' 

" The sheriff bidding us flirewell, the porter of 
Bridewell came and told us we knew our way to 
Bridewell without him, and he would trust us ; 
therefore he would not stay nor go with us, but left 
us to take our own time, so that we were in before 
bed- time. Then went we up again to our friends in 
Newgate, and gave them an account of what had 
passed ; and having taken a solemn leave of them, 
we made up our packs to be gone. 

" We walked two and two abreast, through the 
Old Bailey into Fleet-street, and so to Old Bride- 
well. It being about the middle of the afternoon, 
and the streets pretty full of people, both the shop- 
keepers at their doors and passengers in the way 
would stop, us, and ask what we were, and whither 
When we told them we were pri- 



The Imprisoned Quakers Uherated. i6i 

soncrs going from one prison to another, from 
Newgate to Bridewell, ' What !' said they ; ' without 
a keeper ?' ' No/ said we, ' for our word which we 
have given is our keeper.' " 

This was indeed a welcome change to the Bride- 
well prisoners, though in connection with it Thomas 
Ellwood felt deep sorrow in leaving behind in 
Newgate some of his very dear friends, especially 
Edward Burrough, who, though a young able man 
when sent there, in a few weeks from this time fell 
a victim to the pestilential atmosphere of the place. 
Just a few days before his death the Bridewell pri- 
soners were liberated, without any further examin- 
ation or explanation ; the probable inference being 
that the King had interfered on having had his 
attention drawn to it by the earnest appeal of 
Margaret Fell. Her letter to the King at this 
juncture, and her allusion to the liberation of the 
Quaker prisoners, will be found in the sixteenth 
chapter of The Fells of SvKtrthmoor Hcdl. Before 
many weeks of 1663 had passed, all the prison 
doors of the metropolis were opened, and the 
Quaker prisoners suffered to return home. But the 
respite was only a short one ; their enemies found 
means of again assailing them, and giving the King 
to understand that the city authorities and episco- 
pal clergy would not put up with his interference in 
connection with the metropolitan prisons and their 
inmates. Till the plague came with all its horrors, 
the King never again interfered ; but then at last, 



1 62 EUwood revisits Clialfont, 

when pestilence had overspread the city, he authori- 
tatively declared, probably at the instigation of tiie 
court physicians, that no more Quakers should be 
sent to the metropolitan jails. 

I must allow Thomas Ellwood to finish his per- 
sonal history for 1662 in his own words. He says, 
" Being now at liberty, I visited my friends that 
were still in prison, and particularly I visited my 
friend and benefactor William Penington, at his 
house; and then went to wait upon my master 
Milton; with whom I could not yet propose to 
enter upon my intermitted studies, until I had been 
in Buckinghamshire, to visit my worthy friends 
Isaac Penington and his wife, with other Friends in 
that country. Thither therefore I betook myself, 
and the weather being frosty, and the ways by that 
means clean and good, I walked it through in a 
day, and was received by my friends with such 
demonstrations of kindness as made my journey 
every way pleasant to me. 

" I had intended only a visit hither, and therefore 
purposed, after I had staid a few days, to return to 
my lodging and former course in London ; but 
Providence ordered it otherwise, Isaac Penington 
had at that time two sons and one daughter, all 
then very young; of whom the eldest son, John 
Penington, and the daughter, Mary, the wife of 
Daniel Wharley, are yet living while I write this. 
And being himself both skilful and cui^ious in pro- 
nunciation, their father was verv dcisirous to have 



and settles there. 163 

them well grounded in the rudiments of the English 
tongue ; to which end he had sent for a man out of 
Lancashire, whom he had heard of, and Avho was 
undoubtedly the most accurate English teacher that 
ever I met with or have heard of. His name was 
Richard Bradley. But as he pretended no higher 
than the English tongue, and had led them to the 
highest improvement they were capable of in that, 
he had taken his leave of them, and gone to Lon- 
don to teach an English school of Friends' children 
there. This put my friend to a fresh strait. He 
had sought for a new teacher to instruct his chil- 
dren in the Latin tongue, but had not yet found 
one. Wherefore, one evening, as w^e sat together 
by the fire in his bedchamber, he asked me, his 
wife being by, if I w^ould be so kind to him as to 
stay a while till he could hear of such an one as he 
aimed at, and in the meantime enter his children 
in the rudiments of Latin. 

" This question was not more unexpected than 
surprising to me ; the more because it seemed di- 
rectly to thwart my former purpose of endeavour- 
ing further to improve myself by following my 
studies with my master Milton. But the sense I 
had of the manifold obligations I lay under to 
these worthy friends of mine shut out all reasoning, 
and disposed my mind to an absolute resignation 
to their desire, that I niiglit testify my gratitude, 
by a willingness to do them auy friendly service 
I was capa])le of And though I (piestioned my 



164 Death of Edward La; rough. 

ability to carry on the work to its due height, yet 
as only an initiation was proposed, I consented; 
and left not that position till I married, which was 
in the year 1669, near seven years from the time 
I came thither. During which period, having the 
use of my friend's books as well as of my own, I 
spent much of my leisure hours in reading, and not 
without improvement to my private studies ; which, 
with the good success of my labours bestowed on 
the children, and the agreeable conversation which 
I found in the family, rendered my undertaking 
the more satisfactory. 

" But alas ! not many days had I been there, 
ere we were almost overwhelmed with sorrow for 
the unexpected loss of Edward Burro ugh, who was 
justly very dear to us all. This not only good, but 
great good man, hy a long, and close, and cruel 
confinement in Newgate, was taken away by sud- 
den death, to the unutterable grief of very many, 
and the unspeakable loss of the Church of Christ in 
general." 

Thomas EUwood gave expression to his sorrow 
in sundry verses on the death of his venerated 
friend, one of which was an acrostic, Elhvoods 
Lament for his endeared Edward Burrougli, for 
which the reader is referred to the author's auto- 
biography. 



CHAPTER VI. 

1662-1669. 

Ellwood a tutor at Chalfont. — Gulielma Maria Springett. — His portrait 
of her character. — Her suitors. — Ellwood's cautioTis demeanour to- 
wards her. — " He for Avhom she was reserved." — AVilliam Penn. — 
Penn's Oxford experience. — Is expelled the University. — His father's 
displeasure and severity. — Continental travel. — Returns home. — 
Becomes a law student. — The plague in London. — Sent to the Duke 
of Ormond's court in Dublin. — His first and last military exploit. — 
Settles at Shangarry Castle, near Cork. — Visits the Friends' meeting 
there, and hears Thomas Loe preach. — Is imprisoned with the 
Quakers. — Released by order of Lord Ossory and summoned to Lon- 
don. — Interview with his father. — Sir William turns his son out of 
doors. — Penn becomes a religious writer. — First interview with Gull 
Springett. — Controversy. — Imprisonment in the Tower. — Writes In- 
nocency toith her Open Face. — Is released. — Acquaintance with the 
Peningtons. — His letter to Isaac Penington on the death of Thomas 
Loe. — Goes again to Ireland. 

Although the spring of 1663 brought some 
respite to the Friends from the cruel assaults of 
their enemies, both in the metropolis and the sur- 
rounding counties, yet, as the year waned, religious 
persecution began to rage with renewed violence. 
That party in the Episcopal Church which believed 
that the terror of physical suffering would succeed 
in bringing the conscience and conduct of dissent- 
ers into conformity with their demands, again de- 

165 



J 66 Oalldina Maria Sprln(j€ft. 

termined to try their strengtli in a fresh struggle 
with every phase of nonconformity. The Friends 
were the only dissenters who in this emergency 
persistently continued to meet publicly for divine 
worship in their own fashion. They felt bound 
thereto by allegiance to God, notwithstanding the 
law of man which interposed to prevent them ; 
consequently they again became the chief victims. 
In London, Hertfordshire, and the north of Eng- 
land this fresh storm of persecution chiefly raged. 
The Friends at Chalfont, during the years 1G63 
and 1664, seem to have remained in the peaceful 
exercise of their own religious worship. 

Meantime the young tutor at the Grange ap- 
pears to have made his way steadily with the educa- 
tion of the junior Peningtons. To their sister Guli 
he was as an attached elder brother, one on whom 
she could depend for all those little acts of manly 
courtesy and care which to a nature like his it was a 
heartfelt pleasure to yield; often accompanying her 
in equestrian expeditions over the country, and in 
her walks of exploration through the surrounding 
woods and fields. In 1664 Gulielma was twenty 
years of age, and was as remarkable for her good- 
ness and piety as for her beauty and native grace- 
fulness. We are told that her hand was sought by 
men of all classes, peers and commoners, courtiers 
and Puritans. But I must allow lior friend, Avho 
was acquainted with her so intimately from child- 
hood, to tell us of her at this period, and of his 






Gidiehna Maria Sprlngett. 167 

own demeanour towards her. Thomas Ellwood 
says : — 

"■ While I remained in that family various sus- 
picions arose in the minds of some concerning 1110, 
with respect to Mary Penington's fair daugliter, 
Guli. For she, having now arrived at a marriage- 
able age, and being in all respects a very desirable 
woman — whether regard was had to her outward 
person, which wanted nothing to render her com- 
pletely comely ; or to the endowments of her mind, 
which were every way extraordinary; or to her out- 
ward fortune, which was fair, and which with some 
hath not the last nor the least place — she was 
openly and secretly sought and solicited by many, 
some of almost every rank and condition, good and 
bad, rich and poor, friend and foe. To whom in 
their respective turns, till he at length came for 
whom she was reserved, she carried herself with so 
much evenness of temper, such courteous freedom, 
guarded with the strictest modesty, that, as it gave 
encouragement or ground of hope to none, so nei- 
ther did it administer any matter of offence or just 
cause of complaint to any. 

" But such as were thus engaged for themselves, 
or advocates for others, could not, I observed, but 
look upon me with an eye of jealousy; and a fear 
that I would improve the opportunities I had of 
frequent and familiar conversation with her, to 
work myself into her good opinion, and her special 
favour, to the ruin of their pretences. And accord- 



1 68 GuUcliiia Mtiria Si^rliifjdt. 

ing to the several kinds and degrees of tlieir fears 
of me, they suggested to her parents ill surmises 
against me. Some were even inelined to question 
the sincerity of my motives in first coming among 
the Quakers, urging with a ' Why may it not be 
that the hope of obtaining so fair a fortune may 
have been the chief inducement?' But this surmise 
could find no place with those worthy friends of 
mine, her father-in-law and her mother, who, be- 
sides the clear sense and sound judgment they had 
in this case, knew very well the terms and motives 
on which I came among the Friends ; how strait 
and hard the passage was to me ; how contrary to 
all worldly interest, which lay fairly another way; 
how much I had suffered from my father for it; 
and how regardless I had been of seeking any such 
thing these three or four years I had been amongst 
them. 

" Some others, measuring me by their own incli- 
nations, concluded I would steal her, run away with 
her, and marry her ; which they thought I might 
be easily induced to do, from the opportunities I 
frequently had when riding and walking abroad 
with her, hy night as well as by day, without any 
other company than her maid. But such was the 
confidence her mother had in me, that she felt her 
daughter was safe from the plots or designs of 
others if I were with her. And so honourable 
were her thoughts of me, that she would not admit 
any suspicion. 



Gulielma Maria Sprlngdi, 169 

" Whilst I was not ignorant of the various fears 
which filled some jealous heads concerning me, nei- 
ther was I so stupid or so divested of human feeling 
as not to be sensible of the real and innate worth 
and virtue which adorned that excellent dame, and 
attracted the eyes and hearts of so many, with the 
greatest importunity, to seek and solicit her hand. 
But the force of truth and sense of honour sup- 
pressed whatever would have arisen in my heart 
beyond the bounds of friendship. And having 
observed how some others had befooled themselves 
by misconstruing her common kindness, expressed 
in innocent, open, free conversation, springing from 
the abundant affability, courtesy, and sweetness of 
her natural temper, to be the effect of singular 
regard and peculiar affection for them, I resolved 
to shun the rock on which I had seen so many 
run and split ; remembering that saying of the poet, 

Felix quern faciunt alieua pericula cautum, 

I governed myself in a free yet respectful carriage 
towards her, and thereby preserved a fair reputation 
with my friends, and enjoyed as much of her favour 
and kindness in a virtuous and firm friendship, as 
was fit for her to show or for me to seek." 

" He for %oliom she ivas reserved'' — the fortunate 
one thus alluded to by Ellwood — was then a total 
stranger to Gulielma, and at that very time, 1G64, 
like herself, had only just completed his twentieth 
year. At the period in question, he was very dif- 



1 70 Poin expelled from Oxford. 

ferently surrounded to what she was. Instead of 
rural life in its cultivated beauty like that which 
lay around her, and the peace and happiness of a 
truly Christian home which she enjoyed, lie ^vas 
studying life in continental courts, or making ac- 
quaintance with the rank and fashion of France. 

Before he was eighteen years of age William 
Penn had been sent to the Continent by his father, 
Admiral Penn, for the purpose not only of ordinary 
travel, but especially to have spread before him 
the allurements of gay courtly life in their most 
fascinating forms. By this means the father 
'hoped to supplant and drive away the serious im- 
pressions his mind had received when an Oxford 
student, from the Quaker preaching of Thomas 
Loe, whose prison letter to EUwood has already 
been quoted. Young Penn was expelled the Uni- 
versity for refusing to wear the college cap and 
gown ; for discussing among his fellow students 
the wickedness and absurdity of religious perse- 
cution ; and, more especially, for asserting the 
scriptural truth of Quaker doctrines. No gentle 
measures awaited his return home after this expul- 
sion. But it was in vain that the stern authorita,- 
tive admiral insisted on the abandonment of 
every new religious idea the son had taken up. 
Personal flagellation and solitary confinement fol- 
lowed, till the father became aware that the reli- 
gious convictions even of a youth of sixteen or 
seventeen w^ere not so to be overcome. At lengthy 



Travels on the Continent. 171 

when severity failed, continental travel was resolved 
on ; and no arrangements were spared that could 
render it attractive. William accordingly went 
abroad under the highest auspices, and with com- 
panionship which his father entirely approved of. 
The courtly life to which he was introduced in 
Paris, and the brilliant fairy-like scenes that floated 
before him in the elegant chateaux of French nobles 
and the ducal palaces of Northern Italy, for a time 
raised up other desires and other visions in the 
mind of the youth, which were more in unison 
with those of his ambitious father. 

In little more than two years young Penn re- 
turned without any visible remains of the Quaker 
predilections of his Oxford life. He had acquired 
the air and bearing of a noble young cavalier, and 
withal manifested such powers of thought and 
conversational ability in speaking of what he had 
observed abroad, that his father and mother were 
delighted. It was evident he had just seen enough 
of courtly life to be transiently dazzled by its ex- 
terior graces, without having been tainted by its 
vices. A considerable portion of those two years 
had been spent in perfecting his theological studies 
in France, under the guidance of Moses Amyrault, 
a learned professor of divinity of the Reformed 
French Church. And now that he had returned 
home, the admiral, conscious that his active mind 
must have real occupation, proposed that he should 
be entered as a student of law at Lincoln's Inn. 



172 Pe^ioi visits Ireland. 

Thus, too, he hoped to perfect the education of the 
sou whom he expected to succeed him in the peer- 
age which was already awaiting his acceptance 
under the title of Lord Weymouth. 

To the study of law William earnestly applied 
his acute, comprehensive intellect for the following 
year. But then came a change. In 1665 the 
plague broke out. Like every one else who could 
remove, he left London. But in view of such 
sudden calls from life here to life hereafter, very 
solemn thoughts, and a religious sense of his re- 
sponsibility to God for the right exercise of the 
talents that had been given him, took possession of 
his mind. His father marked the serious thoughtful- 
ness which succeeded, and his manifest desire to 
withdraw from fashionable life. In remembrance of 
the past, he became alarmed, and forthwith resolved 
to send his son on a visit to his friend, the Duke of 
Ormond, then Lord Deputy in Ireland. After 
making acquaintance with the Ormond family, 
William was to proceed to the County of Cork, and 
undertake the management of the admiral's Shan- 
garry estate. The viceregal court in Dublin at 
that period was said to be the purest in Europe, 
and remarkable for its refinement and mental cul- 
tivation. We are told it was to a great extent free 
from the vulgar excesses that prevailed in the gay 
dissipated society of the court of the second Charles. 
Hence it suited young Penn's tastes and tendencies, 
to a degree that the latter never could. He there- 



Fights at Carrickfergus. iy3 

fore remained in Dublin for a considerable time ; 
and even joined the Earl of Arran, the Duke's 
second son, in a military expedition to quell an out- 
break in the County of Antrim. The insurgents 
having fortified themselves in Carrickfergus castle, 
Arran accompanied by his youthful friend as a 
volunteer, undertook to dislodge them ; and finally 
they restored peace to the district. His biographer 
says that young Penn behaved throughout with so 
much coolness and courage, as to extort general 
applause from experienced ofiicers. The Duke of 
Ormond and Lord Arran were earnest in protesting 
that tlie ability he had displayed clearly pointed to 
the army as a profession for which his talents suited 
him in an eminent degree. 

However well pleased the Admiral was with the 
duke's praise of his son's ability and military 
prowess, he did not wish him to become a soldier ; 
and hence the last as well as the first military ex- 
ploit of William Penn was in connection with the 
Castle of Carrickfergus. The first portrait for which 
he sat was painted in Dublin after his return, and 
in it he was represented in the armour wdiich he 
wore on that occasion. '•* 

But an important crisis w^as now at hand, which 
changed the whole current of his life. Another 
and a very different course of discipline was ere 
long assigned him by the Lord of all, preparing 



* William Hepwortb Dixon's Life of William Penn. 



174 Hears TJiomas Loe hi Cork. 

bis heart and his hands to war in the cause of 
God and His righteousness — not with carnal wear 
pons, but with the spiritual weapons of Divine 
truth, fixith, and love. 

Penn, on arriving at Shangarry Castle, found 
abundance of occupation. A great deal of work 
had to be got through, to bring the affairs connect- 
ed with the estate into due order ; but, finally, all 
was settled with so much dispatch and business- 
like ability that his fjxther was rejoiced. William 
Ilepworth Dixon depicts, with much graphic power, 
the events which succeeded : — 

" The youth had not resided more than a few 
months at Shangarry Castle, before one of those 
incidents occurred which destroy in a day the most 
elaborate attempts to stifle the instincts of nature. 
Whilst the admiral in England was pluming him- 
self on the triumphs of his worldly prudence, his 
son, on occasion of one of his frequent visits to 
Cork, heard by accident that Thomas Loe, his old 
Oxford acquaintance, was in the city and intended 
to preach that night. He thought of his boyish 
enthusiasm at college, and wondered how the 
preacher's eloquence would stand the censures of 
his riper judgment. Curiosity prompted him to 
stay and listen. The fervid orator took for his text 
the passage, ^ There is a faith that overcomes the 
workl, and there is a faith that is overcome by the 
world.' Possessed by strong religious feeling, but 
ill the same time docile and aflectionate, he had 



Becomes a Quaker. lyr 

hitherto oscillated between two duties — duty to 
God, and duty to his father. The case was one in 
which the stronii;est minds nii2:ht waver ibr a time. 
On tlie one side his filial allectiouj the example of 
his brilliant friends, the worldly ambition seldom 
quite a stranger to the soul of man — all pleaded 
powerfully in favour of his father's views. On the 
other there were only the low whisperings in his 
OAvn heart. But that still voice would not be 
silenced. Often as he had escaped from thought 
into business or gay society, the moment of repose 
again brought back the old emotions. The crisis 
had come at last. Under Thomas Loe's influence 
they were restored to a permanent sway. From 
that night he was a Quaker in his heart." 

Again and again he attended the meeting of the 
Friends in Cork ; and always with the deep con- 
viction that in their assemblies worship, " in spirit 
and in truth," was acceptably offered up to " the 
Father of mercies and the God of all comfort." 
The truthful, kind, unostentatious demeanour of 
these persecuted disciples of Christ with whom he 
now worshipped won his confidence ; and he re- 
solved, come what would, to cast in his lot with 
theirs. In their meetings he had experienced such 
heart-felt spiritual communion as he had never 
enjoyed elsewhere. lie believed his spiritual eyes 
were now opened to see Avith some degree of clear- 
ness what was of God, and what was not. 

But it was not louii; ere a circumstance occurred 



176 Is imprisoned in Corh. 

which must have given him a foretaste of the trials 
which awaited him if, in defiance of paternal admo- 
nitions, he should identify himself with the perse- 
cuted Friends; for, on the 3rd of Ninth-month, 
1667, their meeting in Cork, at which he was pre- 
sent, was broken up by a band of constables and 
soldiers; and all the men, eighteen in num])er, 
were made prisoners and taken before the mayor. 
Observing among them the young heir of Shan- 
garry, the magistrate said it was not necessary that 
he should go to prison if he would give bail for 
his good behaviour. This Penn declined to do, 
and, boldly questioning the legality of the whole 
proceeding, was imprisoned with the rest. From 
the jail he wrote to his friend Lord Ossory, eldest 
son of the Duke of Ormond, and then holding the 
presidency of Munster. The following is an ex- 
tract from the letter : — 

William Penn to the Earl of Ossory, Lord Presi- 
dent of Munster. 

"The occasion may seem as strange as my cause 
is just, but your lordship will no less extend your 
charity in the one case than your justice in the 
other. Religion, which is at once my crime and 
mine innocence, makes me a prisoner for being in 
the assembly of the people called Quakers, when 
there came constables, backed with soldiers, rudely 
and arbitrarily recpiiring every man's appearance 



Penns Letter to Lord Ossory. lyy 

before the major ; and amongst the others haled 
me before him. He charged me with being present 
at a riotous and tumultuous assembly, and unless I 
would give bond for my good behaviour, he would 
commit me. I asked for his authority. His an- 
swer was a proclamation in the year 1660, and new 
instructions to revive that dead, antiquated order. 
I leave your lordship to judge if that proclamation 
relates to this concernment — that which was only 
designed to suppress Fifth Monarchy murderers. 
And since the King's Lord Lieutenant and yourself 
are fully persuaded the intention of these called 
Quakers, by their meetings, was really the service 
of God, and that you have virtually repealed that 
other law by a long continuance of freedom, I hope 
your lordship will not now begin an unwonted 
severity by suffering any one to indulge so much 
malice with his nearest neighbours ; but that there 
may be a speedy releasement of all, to attend their 
honest callings and the enjoyment of their families. 
" Though to dissent from a national system im- 
posed by authority renders men heretics in some 
eyes, yet I dare believe your lordship is better read 
in reason and theology than to subscribe a maxim 
so vulgar and untrue. It is not long since you 
were a solicitor for the liberty I now crave, when 
you concluded there was no way so effectual to im- 
prove this country as to dispense freedom in things 
relating to conscience. My humble supplication 
therefore to you is, that so malicious and injurious 



lyS Penn retmiis to London. 

a practice towards innocent Englislimen may not 
receive any countenance from your lordship, for it 
would not resemble that clemency and English 
spirit that hath hitherto made you honourable." 

Lord Ossory promptly interfered to have his 
young friend released. But the Earl was sorry to 
find him, on his liberation, in no way disposed to 
give up his connection with the persecuted Quakers. 
Ossory therefore lost no time in writing to inform 
the admiral respecting his son's imprisonment, re- 
lease, and continued association with the Friends. 
The whole family was dismayed at the intelli- 
gence, and the young man was forthwith recalled 
by the disappointed father. He promptly obeyed 
the summons, presenting himself as soon as possi- 
ble before his parents in London, At first, they 
were a little cheered on noticing no particular 
change in his manners or dress, except in not un- 
covering liis head when he addressed them. He 
continued to wear the fashionable cavalier costume ; 
the long curls, the plume, and the rapier were still 
in their wonted places, as were the rings and other 
gold ornaments. No thought had as yet been di- 
rected by him to these customary decorations ; but 
in after times they were all laid aside for what was 
more simple, though not for any style of dress 
peculiarly distinguishing the Quakers from other 
strictly religious people of those times. 

His father, remembering how he had been before 
won over, did not at first begin with him harshly. 



His interview ivith his father. 179 

The biographer who wrote the sketch of William 
Peiin's life which accompanied the second edition 
of his works, published after his decease, dwells as 
follows on the scenes that ensued between father 
and son : — 

" My pen is diffident of her ability to describe 
that most pathetic and moving contest. The fa- 
ther, actuated by natural love, aiming at his son's 
temporal honour ; he, guided by a divine impulse, 
having chiefly in view the Truth of God and his 
own eternal welfare. His father grieved to see the 
well-accomplished son of his hopes, now ripe for 
worldly promotion, voluntarily turning his back on 
it ; he no less afflicted to think that a compliance 
with his earthly father's pleasure was inconsistent 
with obedience to his Heavenly Father. The 
earthly parent pressing conformity to the fashions 
and customs of the times, earnestly entreating and 
beseeching him to yield to this desire ; the son, of a 
loving and tender disposition, in an extreme agony 
of spirit to behold his father's trouble, modestly 
craving leave to refrain from what would hurt his 
conscience ; and, when not granted, solemnly de- 
claring that he could not yield ; his father thereon 
threatening to disinherit him ; he humbly resigning 
all things of that sort to his father's will, who per- 
ceiving that neither entreaty nor threats prevailed, 
turned his back on him in anger; and the son 
lifted up his heart to God for strength to sustain 
him in that time of bitter trial." 



I So Penn a relic/ioits tvriter. 

When all the admiral's endeavours proved inef- 
fectual to shake William's religious resolutions, the 
disconcerted fiither, unable any longer to endure 
him in his sight, fairly turned him out of doors. 
But his mother, well knowing his deep feeling and 
devotedness, never suffered her heart to be hard- 
ened against her son. She saw him occasionally, 
and supplied him with the means of procuring the 
necessaries of life ; whilst the Friends received him 
cordially in their midst as a brother beloved. In 
1G68, when in the twenty-fourth year of his age, he 
came forward amongst them as a minister of the 
Gospel. This circumstance is thus alluded to in 
the sketch of his^ life published with his works : — 
" Being redeemed by the power of Christ, he was 
sent to call others from under the dominion of 
Satan into the glorious liberty of the sons of God, 
that they might receive remission of sins, and an 
inheritance among them that are sanctified through 
faith in Jesus Christ." 

The same year in which he appeared as a minis- 
ter he first came forward as a religious writer, his 
earliest work being Truth Exalted. Then followed 
a reply to an author who had published A Guide 
to True Religion, in which he had misstated Qua- 
ker doctrines. The reply was entitled The Guide 
Mistaken. His next work was The Sandy Founda- 
tion Shahen. This publication resulted from his and 
George Whitehead's having been unfairly prevent- 
ed from orally repljdng to a Calvinistic preacher. 



Is accused of hlasplicmij. iSi 

who had grossly assailed the soundness of Friends' 
doctrines, and had in a most outrageous manner 
taken exception to them on three special points. 
He agreed, on being privately remonstrated with, 
publicly to make good his charges, and of course 
to hear what they had to say in reply. However, 
having spoken as long as he wished, he w^ould not 
suffer the audience to listen to what the Friends 
had to say, but removed the lights, and broke up 
the meeting by force, whilst they were stating their 
views. The Sandy Foundation Sliahen was written 
to prove that the doctrine of "One God subsisting 
in three separate and distinct persons'' was not con- 
sistent with Holy Scripture ; and that " the impos- 
sibility of God pardoning sinners without a plenary 
satisfaction," and "the justification of impure per- 
sons by an imputative righteousness," were liable 
to the same objection, as theological dogmas un- 
warranted by Holy Scripture. 

The extreme difficulty of arguing on such ques- 
tions, so as not to be misunderstood by persons 
accustomed to regard these dogmas as embodying 
established scriptural truth, may be easily ima- 
gined. And it is not improbable that there was 
some want of due caution on Penn's part. It is 
certain that his confining himself to the points 
laid down, without at the same time giving expres- 
sion in thatworlv to l^is own full faith in the scrip- 
tural truth of Christ's oneness with the Father, and 
his belief in the scriptural offices of the Holy Spirit, 



Ib2 



Peiin committed to the Toioer. 



led to serious misunderstanding. As he did not 
dwell at all on these points of belief in The Samly 
Foundation Shahen^ his enemies declared that he 
did not hold them, and they assailed him accord- 
ingly. 

The outcry which was thus raised soon stirred 
up the persecuting spirit in some of the heads of 
the Church which he had forsaken. They were not 
slow in procuring an order for his imprisonment in 
the Tower, on an accusation of blasphemy. None 
of his friends except his father, who was not likely 
to avail himself of the permission, was suffered to 
visit him there. His servant, who alone had free 
access to him, brought him word that the Bishop 
of London was resolved that he should either pub- 
licly recant, or die a prisoner. To this he replied, 
" Thou mayest tell my father, who I know will ask 
thee, that these are my words in answer, ' My 
prison shall be my grave before I will budge a jot, 
for I owe obedience of my conscience to no mortal 
man.' But I have no need to fear ; God will make 
amends for all. They are mistaken in me ; I value 
not their threats and resolutions. In me shall they 
behold a resolution that is above fear, conscience 
that is above cruelty, and a baffle put to their de- 
signs by the spirit of patience — the companion of 
all the tribulated flock of the blessed Jesus, who is 
the author and finisher of the faith that overcomes 
the world." 

That '* faith which overcomes the world" was 



Wrttet; "No Cross, No Crown.'" 183 

now his in truth ; and its sustaining power kept 
up his spirit in the soUtude to which he was con- 
demned. And though he could not then go forth 
from place to place as a preacher of righteousness, 
his pen could send abroad his thoughts even more 
widely than his voice. Conscious of this, he used 
indefatigably in his Lord's service the talent he 
could command. Beside some rejoinders to the at- 
tacks of his enemies, which he sent forth from the 
Tower, he there and then wrote his great work, 
No Cross, No Croion, As coming from the pen of 
so young a man, this work, on account of the inti- 
mate knowledge of ecclesiastical history and the 
breadth of thought which it displays, was regarded 
as a marvellous composition, and passed through 
several editions during the author's lifetime. 

Finding that many serious persons, who were 
not mere cavillers, were led by the representations 
put forward against him to think that he did not 
recognize the Deity of Christ the Saviour, because 
of its not being noticed in Tlie Sandy Foundation 
Shaken, he wrote Imiocency toWt her Open Face. 
In this work he gave a full exposition of his con- 
victions on that important subject. His statements 
indicate so much careful examination and clearness 
of intellect, that I think it right in this connection 
to quote some of them. He says : — 

" That which I am credibly informed to be the 
greatest reason for my imprisonment, and that 
noise about blasplieniy which hath pierced so 



184 Pcun asserts las orthodoxy. 

many ears of late, is my denying the divinity of 
Christ, which most busily hath been suggested as 
well to those in authority, as maliciously insinuated 
among the people. Wherefore, let me beseech you 
to be impartial and considerate in the perusal of 
this my vindication ; which, being written in the 
fear of the Almighty God, and in the simplicity 
of Scripture dialect presented to you, I hope my 
innocency will appear beyond scruple. 

" The prophets David and Isaiah speak tlius, 
' The Lord is my light and my salvation' — ' I will 
give thee for a light unto the Gentiles' — and, 
speaking to the Church, '• For the Lord shall be 
thine everlasting light;' to which the evangelist 
adds concerning Christ, ^ that was the true light 
which lighteth every man that cometh into the 
world' — ' God is light, and in Him is no darkness 
at all.' From which I assert the unity of God and 
Christ, because though nominally distinguished, yet 
essentially the same divine light ; for if Christ be 
that light, and that light be God, then is Christ 
God. Or if God be that light, and that light be 
Christ, then is God Christ. Again, in Rev. vi., 
^And the city had no need of the sun, for the glory 
of God did lighten it, and the Lamb (Christ) is 
the light thereof,' l)y which the oneness of tlie na- 
ture of these lights plainly appears ; for since God 
is not God without His own glory, and that His 
glory lightens (which it could never ilo if it were 
not light) and that the Lamb or Chri.^t is that 



Pciiii asstrts his ortJtodoxtj. 185 

very same light, what can follow but that Christ 
the light and God the light are one pure eternal 
light ? 

" Next, from the Avord Saviour it is manifest, ^ I, 
even I, am the Lord, and besides me thei-e is no 
Saviour ;' ' and thou sh(dt know no God but me, for 
there is no Saviour beside ;' and Mary said, ' My 
spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour;' and 
the Samaritans said unto the woman, ' Now we 
know that this is indeed the Christ, the Saviour of 
the world.' — ' Therefore we suffer reproach because 
we trust in the living God, who is the Saviour of all 
men.' — To the only wise God our Saviour be glory.' 

"All these prove Christ to be God ; for if none 
can save, or be properly styled the Saviour, but 
God, and yet that Christ is declared to save, and 
be properly called the Saviour, it must needs follow 
that Christ the Saviour is God." 

"He that is 'The everlasting wisdom;' 'The 
divine power ;' ' The true light ;' ' The only Sa- 
viour ;' ' The creating Word,' and ' Upholder of 
all things by His own power,' is without contradic- 
tion God. All these qualifications and divine 
properties are by the concurrent testimonies of 
scripture ascribed to the Lord Jesus Christ ; there- 
fore, without a scruple I call Him and ])elieve Him 
really to be the Mighty God." 

After such a full solemn statement as this, of 
course no room was left for calling in question 
William Penn's entire bjlief in the divinity of the 



1 86 Peaii mauitauvj lil^ own views. 

Lord Jesus. But still there remained his unrecant- 
ed declarations of the uiiscriptural character of the 
scholastic terms, and the other teaching against 
which he wrote in The Sandy Foundation Shaken. 
From these he did not recede in the slightest de- 
gree, when writing hinocency loitli her Open Face. 
Instead of doing so, his remarks only went to con- 
lirm or reiterate his former statements. Thus he 
concludes : — 

" However positively I may reject or deny my 
adversaries' unscriptural and imaginary doctrine of 
satisfaction, let all know this, that I pretend to 
know no other name by which remission, atone- 
ment, and salvation can be obtained, but Jesus 
Christ the Saviour, who is the power and wisdom 
of God. As for jiistificatlon hy an imputed rifjht- 
eousness, I still say that whosoever believes in 
Christ shall have remission and justification ; but 
then it must be such belief, such faith, as can no 
more live without works than a body without a 
spirit ; wherefore I assert that true faith compre- 
hends evangelical obedience. And herein Dr. 
Stillingfleet comes to my support by this plain 
assertion, viz. ' Such, who make no other condition 
of the gospel but hellevuKj, ought to have a care to 
keep their hearts sounder than their heads,' thereby 
intimating the great imperfection and danger of 
such a notion. God Almighty bears me record 
that my design was nothiug less or more than to 
wrest those sin-plw\sing principles out of the hands, 



Appeals to Lord Arlu^jfon. 187 

heads, and hearts of the people, from the fond 
persuasion of being justified by the personal right- 
eousness of another, without any relation to their 
own obedience to God — that they might not sin on 
upon such a trust, till irrecoverably overtaken by 
eternal punishment." 

William Penn, still continuing a prisoner without 
being brought to trial, notwithstanding all he had 
written and published, at length addressed a long 
letter to Lord Arlington, Secretary of State, asking 
him to interfere. He showed how contrary it was 
to every principle of justice, and every legal idea, 
ancient or modern, to keep a man imprisoned for 
holding certain opinions which he really did not 
hold, without allowing him an opportunity of clear- 
ing himself on open trial ; and he asked, even if he 
did hold all the opinions objected to, by what law 
could he be legally imprisoned for doing so ; and, 
if they wished to convince him of error, could they 
hope to effect it by such means. He says in con- 
clusion : — " I make no apology for my letter as 
a trouble ; because I think the honour that will 
accrue to thee by being just, and releasing the op- 
pressed, exceeds the advantage that can succeed to 
me. And I am well assured any kindness and 
justice it may please thee to employ on that ac- 
count cannot miss a plentiful reward from God, 
and praise of all virtuous men." 

This letter bears date the 1st of Fifth-month, 
1669, and in little more than a month after it was 



1 88 Peim meets Ids ftitare wife. 

written the writer was released, after about eight 
raonths' imprisonment. On the 24th of Eighth- 
month he sailed from Bristol for Cork, where he 
arrived on the 26th. By his father's express orders, 
he was again to undertake the management of the 
Shangarry estate. 

From all that can be ascertained, it seems that 
it was early in the eventful year 1668 that William 
Penn first met with Gulielma Maria Springett. 
Doubtless, though they had not previously been 
personally acquainted, she had heard something of 
his history ; and had been told of the great ability 
and Christian faithfulness manifested by the young 
convert, son to the celebrated Admiral Sir William 
Penn. We may easily imagine how such a mind 
as hers, and such a heart as his, would be attracted 
towards each other on their first acquaintance. We 
may well understand, too, how Thomas Ellwood's 
generous spirit could rejoice, in a certain sense, in 
seeing the dawn of mutual love which was not to be 
mistaken by his practised eye. He saw, without a 
word being spoken, that " he for whom she was 
reserved" had come at last ; and then, but not till 
then, could he find in his heart to devote himself to 
any one else. 

Meantime William Penn, however charmed by 
tills good and beautiful girl, was in no position to 
make any manifestation of his feelings, or even 
to suffer himself to dwell with certainty on his ever 
being able to do so. He was still banished from 



His first meet in fj toith Loe. 189 

his f^ither's house, and the AdmiraVs threat to dis- 
inherit him had not heen retracted. It does not 
even appear that on sending him to Ireland he 
had had any personal interview with his son. His 
mother met him, and sometimes he came home to 
see her in his father s absence. It is also proba- 
ble that through her the arrangement was made 
about his returning to Shangarry. 



-^ o • ► 



The following pages were ready for the press, 
when an interesting manuscript document respect- 
ing William Penn was obligingly forwarded to me 
by a member of the Huntly family of High Wy- 
combe, to whose collection of old MSS. it belongs. 
As it gives many incidents of Penn's early history 
which were related by himself to his friend Thomas 
Harvey, including some not mentioned in any of 
the memoirs of him which have hitherto appeared, 
I shall now lay its substance, with occasional ex- 
tracts, before the reader. Among other things it 
mentions an earlier meeting with Thomas Loe than 
that which took place at Oxford, and gives addi- 
tional particulars of Admiral Penn's efforts to with- 
draw his son from Quakerism, and of William's 
first interview witli Gulielma Maria Springett. 

As it is certain that Thomas Loe was in Ireland 
both in 1655 and 1657, William Penn's earliest 
Ivnowledge of him, as stated in the paper in 
question, must have been in one of these years, 



1 90 Pemis jlr-Ht medlnrj vj'dli Loe. 

whilst ]io was yet a mere youth. It was most 
proba1)ly in 1655, when the admiral, having lately 
lost favor with the Cromwellian government, by 
whom lie was regarded with susjoicion, removed 
with his family to Ireland. For the four or five 
succeeding years he resided in the neighbourhood 
of Cork, where William must have received the 
elements of his education, for it was not till 1G59 
he was sent to Oxford, being then about fifteen 
years of age. 

The document I have referred to is dated 1727, 
and is headed as follows : — 

^' An account of the convmcement of William Penn^ 
delivered hy himself to Thomas Harvey ahout 
thirty years since, ivhich Thomas Harvey related 
to me in the folloioing brief manner : — 

" He said, while he was but a child living at 
Coric with his father, Thomas Loe came thither. 
When it was rumoured a Quaker was come from 
England, his father proposed to some others to be 
like the noble Bereans, to hear him before they 
judged him. He accordingly sent to Thomas Loe 
to come to his house, where he had a meeting in 
the family. Though William was very young, he 
observed what efiect Thomas Loe's preaching had 
on the hearers. A black servant of his father's 
could not contain himself from weeping aloud ; 
and, looking on his father, he saw the tears running 
down his cheeks also. He [little William] then 



His second clslt to Cork 



QI 



thought within himself, ' Wliat if tlioj would all be 
Quakers ?' This opportunity he never quite forgot 
— the remembrance of it still recurring at times. 
lie afterwards went to Oxford, where he con- 
tinued till he was expelled for writing a IjooI: 
which the priests and masters of the college did 
not like. Then he v/as sent to France, further to 
prosecute his learning, and after he retip^^ied be 
Avas sent to Ireland." 

The manuscript goes on to say that, on his 
second coming to Cork, being the only one of 
the family there, and requiring some articles of 
clothing, he went to the shop of a w^oman-Friend in 
the city to procure them. He expected she would 
have known him, but she did not. He was too 
much altered from the days of his boyhood, w^hen 
the Friend had seen him, to be now recognized 
by her. However, he told her who he was, and he 
spoke to her of Thomas Loe, and of the meeting at 
his father's house ten or eleven years before. The 
manuscript says, " She admired at his remember- 
ing, but he told her he should never forget it ; also 
if he only knew where that person w^as, if 'twere a 
hundred miles off, he would go to hear him again. 
She said he need not go so far, for the Friend 
liad lately come thither, and w^ould be at meeting 
the next day. So he went to the meeting, and 
wlien Thomas Loe stood up to preach, he was 
exceedingly reached, and w^ept much. 

" After meetin2\ some Friends took notice of 



192 Penns second visit to Cork. 

him, and he went to a Friend's house with Thomas 
Loc. In discourse T. L. having said he should 
want a horse, his own being not fit to travel, on 
which William Penn offered him his sumpter-horse 
which he had brought from France. Thomas Loe 
not being willing to take it, W. P. thought it was 
because he was not enough of a Friend to have his 
horse accepted. He continued to go to meeting ; 
and one day a soldier came into the Friends' 
meeting and made great disturbance, on wdiich 
William Penn goes to him, takes him by the collar, 
and would have thrown him down stairs, but for 
the interference of a Friend or two wdio requested 
William to let him alone, telling him the Friends 
w^ere a peaceable people, and would not have any 
disturbance made. Then he became very much 
concerned that he had caused them to be uneasy 
by his roughness. 

" The soldier whom William Penn had expelled 
went to the magistrates, and brought officers and 
men who broke up the meeting, and took several of 
them prisoners, and him among the rest. They were 
brought before the magistrate, who, knowing W. P., 
said he did not think he was a Quaker, so would not 
send him to jail. But William told him, whether 
he thought it or not, he was one, and if he seiit his 
friends to prison he was willing to go with them. 
Then the magistrate said he should go with them." 

The MS. goes on to tell of the interference of the 
Deputy-governor of Munster for William's libe- 



Returns to London. 193 

ration, and also mentions his writing to inform 
the admiral, who forthwith ordered his son home. 
'' Which order he obeyed, and landed at Bristol, 
where he stayed some meetings to strengthen him- 
self, knowing his father would not be very pleasant 
upon him. Josiah Coal went with him to London, 
also to his father's house, to see how he was likely 
to be entertained. His father kept his temper 
while J. C. was there, but before going to bed, ob- 
serving him use thee or thou^ he was very angry." 

The conversation of the father and son on this 
point, the MS. tells us, resulted in the former say- 
ing "he might thee or thou who he pleased, except 
the King, the Duke of York, and himself; these he 
should not tliee or thour But still William would 
not give his father to expect that he could in con- 
science make any such exceptions. On parting 
from him for the night, the admiral, with evidence 
of much displeasure, told his son to be ready to go 
out vfith him in the coach next morning when 
called on. William could sleep none that night, 
his mind being disturbed by a suspicion that his 
father had determined to take him to Court at 
once, to see how fiir courtly surroundings would 
aid in driving away his Quaker prepossessions. 

" When the morning came, they went in the 
coach toa:ether, without William knowino; v\^here 
they were going, till the coachman was ordered to 
drive into the Park. Thus he found his father's 
intent was to have private discourse witli him. He 
13 



1Q4 Penns intervicic 2vlih Ins father . 

commenced by asking him what he could think of 
himself, after being trained up in learning and 
courtly accomplishments, nothing being spared to 
fit him to take the position of an ambassador at 
foreign courts, or that of a minister at home, that 
he should now become a Quaker. William told him 
that it was in obedience to the manifestation of 
God's will in his conscience, but that it was a cross 
to his own nature. He also reminded him of that 
former meeting in Cork, and told him that he be- 
lieved he was himself at that time convinced of the 
truth of the doctrine of the Quakers; only that 
the grandeur of the world had been felt to be a too 
great sacrifice to give up. After more discourse 
they turned homewards. They stopped at a tavern 
on the way, where Sir William ordered a glass of 
wine." On entering a room on this pretext, he im- 
mediately locked the door. Father and son were 
now face to face, under the influence of stern dis- 
pleasure on the one hand, and on the other, prayer- 
ful feeUng to God for strength rightly to withstand 
or l)ear what was coming. William, remembering 
his early experience on returning from Oxford, ex- 
pected something desperate. The thought arose 
that the admiral was going to cane him. But, in- 
stead of that, the father, looking earnestly at him, 
and laying his hands down on the table, solemnly 
told him he was going to kneel down to pray to 
Almighty God that his son might not be a Qua- 
ker, and that he might never again go to a Quaker 



Penns iufcrvteic icii/i Iris fatlier. 195 

meeting. William, opening the casement, declared 
that before he would listen to his flither putting up 
such a praj'Cr to God, he would leap out of the 
window. At that time a nobleman was passing the 
tavern in his coach, and observing Sir William's at 
the door, he ali^'hted. Beini2r directed to the room 
in whicli flxther and son were together, his knock 
came in time to arrest the catastrophe. He had 
evidently heard of William's return, raid of the 
admiral's high displeasure. After saluting the 
former, the MS. says that " he turned to the fa- 
ther, and told him he might think himself happy 
in having a son who could despise the grandeur of 
the world, and refrain from the vices which so 
many were running into." 

They paid a visit before they returned home to 
another nobleman, and the discourse with him also 
turned on the change in William. Here again the 
father was congratulated and the son's resolution 
commended. These congratulations were cheering 
to the young convert,whatever they might have been 
to the admiral. It would seem that, for a longer 
time than is generally supposed, William remained 
under his father's roof after his return from Ireland; 
and that in fact he had commenced to preach in 
Friends' meetings, and had become kno^\^n as .1 
Quaker preacher, before his final expulsion from 
home took place. He had been engaged with an- 
other , reacher in visiting Friends' meetings in the 
cjuntry, one of whi.h had been ])ioken u;^^) bj' a 



inngis(rntc\ \n lu> wroto to Sir William. (oUini;- liiin 
Avhat tiiuuih his son luul Ihhmi makiim". ami [ho ad- 
miral immoiliatolv ilospaU'lunl a lot tor ordorin?;" liim 
to oomo Iiomo. Tho Frioml who had hoou tra\ol- 
limi' with him aiUisod him to ohov his I'atlua-. 
AVilliam dooidoil to do i^o, ami on his rodini ho 
oamo lo l.vvmlon; but. holbro eoiiiLi,' to AVanstoad. 
ho ;Utoiidod a. mootiuir in tho oitv. Al'ior that 
mootuii::, happouiui;- to bo in tlio houso of a i'^riond 
Avho ivsidod in tlio noighbourhood, (Inliolma Maria 
SpriniJ^vtt o:imo in and was introduood to him: this 
was in tho voar UU'^S. and was tho tirst limo ho 
ovor sa.w his I'ntiuv w itb. 

Tlio manusorlpt aooonnt continues : — •• Koturn- 
ing homo, his lather tt^ld him he had lu\n'd w hat 
Avork ho had been making- in tlie eountrv. and after 
sonu^ diiseour>e bid him take his cUnhes and beucme 
i\\nn his house, lor he should not be tliere anv longer. 
Also, tliat he sluvuld dispose of his estates to theiu 
that pleased him better. William ga\e him to 
iuulerst;md lunv great a cross it was to him to dis- 
oblige his father, not because oi' the disposal oi' his 
estates, but tVom tlie (ilial alleciion he bore to him." 
Thus tather and sou parted. William declariug his 
deep sorrow, but his still deeper conviction tliat he 
must in tlielirst place obev Cod. Kissing his mother 
and liis sister Margaret, he left the house with their 
cries o( distress siunuling in his ears. 

\Villiam IVnn had a brother named Kichard. o\' 
whom w hear viM'v little. 1( is prc>bable he was a!" 



JjJ^'it IkOUTH <)f Tli.()lli<i:; IjjC, \ r^-j 

K(;}iool or cmW'.'^c. -jX this liino, an he Hcoms U) have 
fj^icn Keveral yearn yomv^dv than Willinin. 

Jiefbre his }iriprj;-;fji)irj(;rit, William P(;nn atUjiided 
tlie df'athhofj o'l 'i'Jjoj/iaH Loe. On that occasion 

liC vvi'otc tho loilowin;^ account of the hist hours of* 
Ijis hclovcd and vcncnil/'fJ fricjjfj : — 

Wdlyiin Pciin f/j fnadf: Pfmin/jtoii.. 

'''' I unflcrstnnf] throu;/!) thy dear wife of" tjjy desire 
to l>c inforrnf^J concc-rnin^; the sickncHS and death 
of dear 'i'liornas Lo(j. It was thus. When George 
W^fjitehead, Thomas Loe. and niysrilf, after thou 
left us, were at Wickharn, at the JJuke of* i^ucking- 
harn's [ojj the husineHs] relative to Frie-nds' lifjerty, 
}je was taken suddenly ill. whicfj newissitated him 
tfj leave us, and hasten to the hrjuse of a Friend who 
lived near, where, after three hours, we found him 
from excessive retching yi-vy f('V(^ris}j. I>usines8 
called me to the city, so thjit I left them. 7'jiat 
evening he was brought \)y coach to Anne Greeri- 
}j ill's, where Pie remjiined about a week, at tiincB 
\<^'vy ill. I>y renson of the continual noise her 
[joiise was exposed to, we reuioved him to Edward 
Ahiii's; where we all had hopes of his speedy re- 
covery, inasmuch as the retirement of the chamber 
in whicii he lay occasioned great rest. But, being 
infirm aiid under extnirjrdinary fever, the strength 
of* his constitution could not long support it, and 
for some time before he left us we daily expected 
his departure. Ab^'uf four ^hiys before lie died I 



1^8 La-st hours of Thomas Loe. 

fell sick myself; but, hearing at what point it was 
wdth clear Thomas, I coalcl not long keep my bed, 
but got up and hastened to him. I found him in 
readiness to depart. Friends, much affected, stood 
around his bed. When I came in, and had set 
myself upon the bedside, so shook was he by the 
power of the Lord, and overcome by the ravishing 
glory of His presence, that it was wonderful to all 
the Friends. Taking me by the hand, he spoke 
thus : — ^ Dear heart, bear thy cross, stand faithful 
for God, and bear thy testimony in thy day and 
generation ; and God will give thee an eternal 
crown of glory, that none shall ever take from thee. 
There is not another way. Bear thy cross. Stand , 
faithful for God. This is the way the holy men of 
old walked in, and it shall prosper. God has 
brought immortality to light, and immortal life is 
felt in its blessedness. Glory, glory to Thee, for 
Thou art eternally worthy ! My heart is full. What 
shall I say? His love overcomes me. My cup 
runs over, my cup runs over. Glory, glory to his 
name for ever ! Friends, keep your testimonies. 
Live to God, and He will be with j-ou. Be not 
troubled; the love of God overcomes my heart.' 
It effected more than all the outward potions given 
him, for it so enlivened his spirits and raised him, 
that he soon after got up and walked about, saying 
to us, ' Many times when I have seemed to be 
going, the Lord has sinned upon my tabernacle, 
and raised it up.' 



Last liours of Thomas Log. i^c^ 

" But it was then the will of the Lord that, after 
all his labour, perils, and travels, he should there 
lay down the body amongst his ancient friends. 
After some little time so greatly ^id his distem[)er 
increase, and his life sink, that we all gave him uy), 
death appearing in almost every part. He lay some 
short time speechless, his spirit being centered, and 
at last he went away with great stillness, having 
finished his testimony, and left many demonstra- 
tions of his service and much fruit of his diligent 
labour. My soul loved him while living, and now 
bemoans his loss when dead. The day following 
we laid the mortal part in the ground, it having 
done its Master's work. 

" With my dear love to thyself, wife, and family, 
I remain in true love 

" Thy sincere friend, 

" Wm. Penn. 

"London, I7th of 8th Mo. 1668." 

The above is taken by kind permission, from the 
manuscript collection of Penington letters in posses- 
sion of John S. Robson of Saffron Walden. 



CHAPTER VII. 

1665-1671. 

Further persecution of the Friends. — The plague in London. — John 
Milton removes to Chalfont. — Magisterial tyranny. — Penington and 
Ellwood imprisoned. — The latter, on being released, visits Milton. — 
The manuscript of Paradise Lost handed to him to read. — Paradise 
Regained suggested by Ellwood. — Earl of Bridgwater imprisons Isaac 
Penington. — Penin^ton's letter to his wife from Aylesbury jail. — 
Penington writes from prison to the Earl of Bridgwater. — A respite. 
— Another letter to his Avife. — Writes to the Amersham Friends from 
Aylesbury jail, — and to George Fox. — Penington's letter to his uncle 
— to his cousin. — Removed by Habeas Corpus to London. — Dis- 
missed by proclamation. — Purchases Woodside. — Rebuilding of the 
old house. — Imprisonment of Isaac Penington in Reading jail. — Is 
released. — Christian influence in prison. 

Haying glanced at William Penn's history up to 
the autLimn of 16 G9, attention must now be more 
exclusively given to that of the Peningtons. 

In 1665, religious persecution again disturbed 
the quiet that had prevailed for the previous few 
years among the worshippers who Aveekly assembled 
in the Penington parlour. l>eibre this disturbance 
connnenccd, an illustrious poet, well known to 
some of the family at the Grange, had determined 
to seek a retreat in their neighbourhood, from the 
pestilence which was depopulating the capital. This 



Milton at Giles Glial font. cot 

was tiie summer of the great plague of London. 
Every week the number of its victims was increas- 
ing, whilst death in its most alarming form was 
spreading terror all around. As many as could 
leave the doomed city, and were not bound by con- 
science or by feelings of self-sacrifice to watch over 
the sick and dying, sought refuge in the country. 
John Milton, dependent as he was at that time on 
the sight of others, requested his former pupil to 
find a house for him near his own home. Thus 
Ellwood relates the circumstance : — " I was desired 
by my quondam master, Milton, to take a house 
for him in the neighborhood where I dwelt, that he 
might go out of the city, for the safety of himself 
and his family, the pestilence then growing hot in 
London. I took a pretty box for him in Giles 
Chalfont, a mile from me, of which I gave him 
notice, and intended to wait on him, and see him 
well settled in it, but was prevented by that im- 
prisonment." 

" That imprisonment," will be explained by the 
following extract from Ellwood's autobiography : — 

" Some time before this, a very severe law was 
made against the Quakers by name, particularly 
prohibiting our meetings under the sharpest penal- 
ties ; five pounds for the first ofience so called, ten 
pounds for the second, and banishment for the 
third; under pain of condemnation for felony if 
escaping or returning without license. This act 
was looked upon to have been procured by the 



101 A QuaJicrs fiuieral. 

bishops, in order to bring us to conform to their 
way of worship. No sooner was that cruel haw 
made, than it was put in execution with great 
severity. And although the storm it raised fell 
with greater weight on some other parts, yet we 
were not in Buckinghamshire wholly exempted 
therefrom, as it reached us after a time. For a 
Friend of Amersham, Edward Perrot, departing 
this life, the Friends of the adjacent country re- 
sorted pretty generally to the burial ; so that there 
was a fair appearance of Friends and neighbours, 
the deceased having been well beloved by both. 
After we had spent some time together in the house, 
Morgan Watkins, who at that time happened to 
be at Isaac Penington's, being with us, the coffin 
was taken up and borne on Friends' shoulders 
through the street towards the burying-ground, 
which was at the town's end, being part of an 
orchard which the deceased in his lifetime had 
given to Friends for that purpose. 

" It so happened that one Ambrose Bonnet, a 
barrister-at-law, and a justice of the peace for that 
county, riding through the town that morning on 
his way to Aylesbury, was informed that there was 
a Quaker to be buried there that day, and that 
most of the Quakers in the country were coming to 
the burial. Upon this, he set up his horses and 
stayed ; and when we, not knowing of his design, 
went innocently forward to perform our Christian 
duty for the interment of our friend, he rushed out 



Magisterial tyranny, 203 

of the inn upon us, with constables, and a rabble 
of rude fellows whom he had gathered together. 
Having his drawn sword in hand, he struck one of 
the foremost of the bearers with it, commanding 
them to set down the coffin. But Thomas Dell, 
the Friend who had been struck, being more con- 
cerned for the safety of the dead body than for his 
own, held the coffin fast. The justice observing this, 
and being enraged that his word, how unjust soever, 
was not forthwith obeyed, with a forcible thrust 
threw the coffin from the bearers' shoulders, so that 
it fell to the ground in the midst of the street ; and 
there we were forced to leave it, for immediately 
tliereu23on the justice gave command for appre- 
hending us, and the constables with the rabble fell 
on us, and drew some, and drove others into the 
inn ; giving thereby an opportunity to the rest to 
walk away. 

" Of those thus taken, I was one and Isaac Pen- 
ington another. Being with many more put into a 
room under a guard, we were kept there till another 
justice had been sent for to join the other in com- 
mitting us. Being called forth severally before 
them, they picked out ten of us, whom they com- 
mitted to Aylesbury jail, for what neither we nor 
they knew ; for we were not convicted of having 
either done or said any thing which the law could 
take hold of" " Our great concern was for our 
friend Isaac Penington, because of the tenderness of 
his constitution 3 but he was so lively in spirit, and 



204 ''Paradise Found T 

so cheerfully given up to suffer, that he rather en- 
couraged us than needed any from us." 

The ten Friends thus committed were kept in 
prison for a month ; when that time had elapsed, 
the doors were opened and they were discharged. 
On his return, Ellwood without delay sought his 
friend Milton, which visit he thus notes, " Now, 
being released, I soon made a visit to him to wel- 
come him to the country. After some common 
discourses had passed between us, he called for a 
manuscript of his ; which being brought he deli- 
vered it to me, bidding me take it home and read 
it at my leisure ; and when I had so done, return 
him with my judgment thereupon. 

" When I came home, and had set myself to 
read it, I found it was that excellent poem which is 
entitled Paradise Lost. After I had with the best 
attention read it through, I made him another visit, 
and returned him his book, with due acknowledg- 
ment of the favour he had done me in communi- 
cating it to me. He asked me ho-w I liked it, 
and what I thought of it, which I modestly but 
freely told him ; and after some further discourse 
about it, I pleasantly said to him, ' Thou hast said 
much here oi Paradise Lost, but what hast thou to 
say about Paradise Found f He made me no 
answer, but sat some time in a muse, then broke 
off that discourse and fell upon another subject. 
After the sickness was over, and the city, well 
cleansed, had become safely habitable again, he 



Penington again imprisoned. 205 

returned thither ; and when afterwards I went to 
wait on him there, which I seldom failed doing 
whenever my occasions drew me to London, he 
showed me his second poem, called Paradise Re- 
gained^ and in a pleasant tone said to me, ' This is 
owing to you, for you put it into my head by the 
question you put to me at Clialfont, which before I 
had not thought of " 

It is pleasant to hear even this much of Milton 
in those days of his outward darkness and se- 
clusion, when, abjuring politics, he devoted his 
tlioughts to poetry. But whilst we cordially thank 
Ellwood for relating these incidents, we would have 
felt very much more indel^ted to him, if he had 
told us all that he could have told about the great 
poet during his retirement at Chalfont, where he is 
supposed to have remained till the spring of 1666. 
And we would have been still further obliged if he 
had let us know what the ladies at the Grano:e 
thought of the " heavenly epic," or if he read it to 
them. The " pretty box" which Thomas Ellwood 
took for his quondam master, as he calls Milton, is 
still standing. Although a plain farmhouse, it is 
of course regarded as the most interesting object in 
the neighbourhood of Chalfont. 

Only four weeks elapsed from the time of tluit 
visit of Ellwood to Milton when the manuscript 
was placed in his hands, till Isaac Penington was 
again imprisoned by order of William Palmer, 
deputy-lieutenant of the County of Bucks. At the 



2o6 An 02')prcsmv€ peer. 

time the order was issued and executed, Mary 
Penington had not left her room after the birth of 
one of her children ; I believe her youngest son 
Edward. The mittimus made out by Palmer was. 
to the effect that the jailor of Aylesbury prison 
'' should receive and keep the body of Isaac Pen- 
ington in safe custody, during the pleasure of the 
Earl of Bridgwater." This Earl of Bridgwater, as 
it appears, had conceived a bitter antipathy to 
Isaac Penington, because he would neither, when 
addressing him, use the phrase " My Lord," nor 
sign himself, in writing to him, "Your humble ser- 
vant." Penington had conscientiously adopted the 
truthfulness of address advocated by the Friends, 
and could not call any man " his lord" who was 
not so ; nor call himself the servant of any one to 
whom he owed no service. The Earl had declared 
he should " lie in prison till he would rot," if he 
would not apologize to him for the omission, and 
address him in the manner which he conceived due 
to his rank. 

Isaac Penington's mind was meantime so dee23ly 
centred in devotion to the Lord, and in resigna- 
tion to His holy will in all things, that the prison 
surroundings were very lightly regarded when com- 
pared with the happiness he felt in the assurance 
that the persecution he was enduring would bring 
honour and exaltation to the cause of Truth. In 
humble adoration before God his Saviour, every 
munnurlnii: thought was hushed, as he wrote to 
lier I'roni w horn he was so cruelly separated : — 



Letter of Isaac Penbigton. 207 

To his wife. 

" 1st of 7th month, 1665. 

" My dear true love, 

" I have hardly freedom to take 
notice of what hath passed so much as in my own 
thoughts ; but I am satisfied in my very heart that 
the Lord, who is good, hath ordered things thus, 
and will bring about what He pleaseth thereby. 
Why should the fleshly-wise, reasoning part mur- 
mur, or find fault. 

" Oh ! be silent before the Lord all flesh within 
me, and disturb not my soul in waiting on my God 
for to perceive what He is working in me and for 
me, and which He maketh these uncouth occur- 
rences conduce into. 

" One thing have I desired of the Lord, even 
that I may be His, perfectly disposed of by Him, 
know nothing but Him, enjoy nothing but in His 
life and leadings. Thus must I give up and part 
with even thee, my most dear and worthy love, or I 
cannot be happy in my own soul or enjoy thee as I 
desire. 

'' I find my heart deeply desiring and breathing 
after tlie pure power of the Lord to reign in me ; 
yet dare I not choose, but beg to be taught to wait ; 
and to be made willing to drink the residue of the 
cup of suftering, both inward and outward, until the 
Lord see good to take it from my lips. 

•' Oh, my dear ! say little concerning me ; plead 



2o8 Illegal imprisonment. 

not my cause, but be still in thy own spirit, and 
await what the Lord will do for me ; that all the 
prayers which in the tenderness of my soul I have 
often put up for thee may have their full effect 
upon thee. My dear, be my true yoke-fellow, help- 
ful to draw my heart toward the Lord, and from 
every thing but what is sanctified by the presence 
and leadings of His life. I feel, and thou knowest 
that I am, very dearly thine. 

Notwithstanding the declaration of the Earl of 
Bridgwater, Isaac Penington's friends, being aware 
that he had broken no law, calculated on his release 
whenever the assizes came round. But the Earl, 
also aware of that fact, took means to prevent a 
trial. Therefore, when the term arrived, no such 
case appeared. Thus term after term passed away 
without any trial, or any notice whatever of Isaac 
Penington's incarceration. It became evident that 
the mittimus made out by the deputy-lieutenant of 
the county was being literally obeyed, and that the 
prisoner was really designed to remain imprisoned 
during the pleasure of the haughty earl. 

The Penington family, as before stated, conti- 
nued to occupy the Grange for some years after 
the confiscation of Alderman Penington's estates, 

"^ The autograph original of the above letter l)elonged to the late 
James Midgley's collection of ancient MSS. and is now in possession 
of his daughter. 



His famllfj scattered. 209 

among wliicli this at Chalfont which he had given 
to his eldest son was included. What the circum- 
stances were under which the son's family w^as 
allowed to remain in possession have not been 
alluded to in any document I have seen ; nor have 
I met with any statement relative to the bestowal 
of the confiscated property, save that which I have 
quoted, which says that Alderman Penington's es- 
tates were given by Charles the Second to the 
Duke of Grafton. But the temporary permission 
to occupy what had formerly been their own house 
and home was withdrawn, and they were ejected 
from the Grange soon after Isaac Penington was 
cast into prison. Whether the Bridgwater influ- 
ence had anything to do with this harsh proceed- 
ing at such a juncture is not evident, though we 
may well surmise it had. Be that as it may, the 
family was broken up, and they made several move- 
ments before they could obtain a tolerably comforta- 
ble abode. Gulielma with her maid went to Bristol, 
as Ellwood tells us, on a visit to her former maid, 
who had been married to a Bristol merchant. Mary 
Penington herself, with her younger children, went 
to Aylesbury, to be near her husband. There she 
took a small house. The tutor had lodgings in the 
neighborhood. 

Of the many religious letters still in existence 
Avhich were written by Isaac Penington in the 
prison at Aylesbury, some were addressed to his 

implacable enemy the Earl of Bridgwater. They 

14 



2IO Letter of Isaac Ptnninjton 

show very clearly and beautifully the loving and 
forgiving spirit which influenced the writer, and 
evince unswerving fidelity to his Divine Master. 
The two following have been copied from the 
Penington MSS. belonging to J. S. Eobson of 
Saffron Walden. 



Isaac Penington to tlie Earl of Bridgwater, 

" God is higher than man, and His will and laws 
are to be obeyed in the first place ; man's only in 
the second, and that in due subordination to the 
will and laws of God. Now, friend, apply this 
thyself; and do that which is right and noble ; 
that which is justifiable in God's sight ; that thou 
mayest give a comfortable account to Him when 
He shall call on thee. That which thou hast done 
to me hath not made me thy enemy; but, in the 
midst of the sense of it, I desire thy true welfare ; 
and that thou mayest so carry thyself in thy place, 
as neither to provoke God against thee in this 
world, nor in the world to come. 

*' Hast thou not afilicted me without cause ? 
Wouldst thou have me to bow to thee wherein the 
Lord hath not given me liberty ? Oh ! come down 
in thy spirit before the Lord. Honour Him in tliy 
heart and ways, and seek for the true nobility and 
honour that cometh from Him. Thou hast but a 
time to 1)e in the world, and then eternity begins; 



to the Earl of Bridgwater. 1 1 1 

and what thou hast sown here thou must then 
reap. 

'' I send thee the enclosed. that thou wouldst 
read it in fear and humility, lifting up thy heart to 
the Lord who giveth understanding, that it may be 
a blessing to thee, for in true love was it writ. 

'' Though the Lord beholdeth, and will plead the 
cause of His innocent ones, and the more helpless 
tliey are the more they are considered, yet I do not 
desire that thou shouldst suffer either from man or 
from God, on my account, but that thou mightest 
be guided to, and preserve, in that which will bring 
sweet rest, peace, and safety to all who are shel- 
tered by it, in the stormy hour in which the Lord 
will make man to feel his sin and misery. 

" This is the sum of what I have at present to 
say, who have writ this in the stirrings of true love 
towards thee, and from a desire that thou mightest 
feel the power of God forming thy heart, setting it 
aright, and causing it to bring forth the fruits of 
righteousness in thee." " I am thy friend in these 
things, and have written as a true lover of thy soul. 

" I. P. 

''From Aylesburj' Jail, 24th of vi. mo. 1666." 



The next document, which was written, as the i 

date indicates, two months before the preceding, i 

was probably that which Isaac Penington speaks ,; 

Of havins: enclosed in the above letter. It was i 



212 Letter of Isaac Penington 

evidently addressed to those magistrates who had 
countenanced the proceedings of the Earl of Bridg- 
water, as well as to the earl himself. 



Isaac Penington^ on heJialf of himself and his 
friends, to the magistrates loho were striving to 
crush out Quakerism hy ^persecution. 

" Why do ye persecute and afflict a man who 
desireth to live in the love and peace of God 
towards you ? Will nothing satisfy you unless I 
deny the Lord whom I have sought and been ac- 
quainted with from my childhood, and whose fa- 
vour and presence I cannot but value above all 
things ? God appeareth not in outward shapes or 
voices, but in His truth revealed in the hearts and 
consciences of them that fear Him and wait upon 
Him ; and he that denieth subjection to any mani- 
festation in the pure light revealed there denieth 
God, and shall be denied of Him ; this I dare not 
ruu the hazard of, through fear of any man. Ye 
are men — great men, many of you — but I know 
God to be greater, and that His power and autho- 
rity over me is greater than yours ; and therefore 
I am not to be blamed for yielding subjection to 
Him in the first place. 

" ! think what ye are doing. Oh ! that ye 
would yet consider ! Can poor worm man contend 
against his Maker, and prosper ? Alas ! what are 
we ? But if the Lord our God hath appeared to 



to the persecuting iinialstrates. 213 

us, and in us, and ye in that respect are offended, 
and make war with us, do ye not thus contend 
against God? What will be the end of these 
things ? and what are ye bringing this poor nation 
and yourselves unto ? For of a truth God is right- 
eous, and what ye have sown in the day of your 
power that ye must reap in the day of His right- 
eous judgment; all the sufferings, oppressions, and 
cries of the innocent will then come upon you in 
full weight and measure, unless ye repent and 
change your ways. 

" I write this in love, tenderness, and good will 
as the Lord knoweth, however ye may interpret it ; 
and, after all my sufferings from you, I could 
freely lay down my life for your sakes, if it were 
the will of God thus to do you good. 

" I have been and still am a patient sufferer for 
well-doing, blessing the Lord who redeemeth and 
preserveth the souls of His children out of evil- 
doing, and who bringeth His indignation and 
wrath, with great perplexity and misery, upon 
nations and upon persons who set themselves in 
opposition to Him. Read Is. xxiv. and Rom. ii. 
2, 9 ; and fear before Him, for it is good for man 
to be abased, and to be found in true fear before 
his Maker. 

" L P. 

"Aylesbury, 23rd 4th mo. 1666." 



214 Mary Panhifjions Illness. 

It will be observed that the above letters m no 
degree partake of the usual tone of a prisoner 
asking for release. Throughout, the writer eon- 
siders himself as a Christian minister, commissioned 
by the Lord ; and as such, in addressing evil doers, 
he is striving under feelings of Christian concern 
to draw their hearts to God. But we have no evi- 
dence of any thing he said having touched the feel- 
ings or the consciences of either the Earl of Bridg- 
water, or of Palmer the deputy-lieutenant, who were 
chiefly instrumental in putting him into prison and 
keeping him there. However, it is probable his 
words touched some less hardened hearts; as it 
appears the Earl of Ancram interposed, and either 
by persuasion or some other means induced the 
deputy-lieutenant to liberate Isaac Penington. 

His wife and some of his children, with two 
servants, were then living in the small house in 
Aylesbury. Thomas Ellwood, with the elder chil- 
dren, were lodging in a farmhouse in the parish of 
St. Giles Chalfont. 

Mary Penington, who at various times was a 
severe sufferer from internal pain, seems to have 
gone to London for medical advice, accompanied 
by her daughter Gulielma, when the following 
letter was written. It has been copied by kind 
permission from the original, now the property of 
Silvanus Thompson of York ; on the back it is 
directed to William Penin'^ton, Merchant, for M. P. 



Letter from Isaac Penutf/toa. 215 

To his 'Wife. 

" 19th of First-month, 1667. 

" My dear love, whom my heart is still with, and 
whose happiness and full content is my great desire 
and delight. 

" Leaving thee in so doubtful a condition, and 
there being such an earnestness in my mind to hear 
how it was with thee, it was pretty hard to me 
to miss of a letter from thee on the Third-day. 
Thomas Ellwood had one from W. P. on the 
Fourth-day, wherein there was very good and wel- 
come news concerning thy health. 

" On Third-day night were called E. H., W. R., 
and G. S., not having been called at the assizes. 
They said the judge spake much against the Pa- 
pists at the assizes, and also gave a short charge 
relating to the fanatics. And I heard by a Windsor 
friend that they were forward, and preparing to 
be very sharp at Windsor. 

"Yesterday I saw thy boy Ned at \^aame ille- 
gible'] looking very well and fresh, if not too well ; 
I mean, too fat. Bill and all thy children are well. 
Bill expects thy coming home at night. I bid 
him write to thee to come home ; but he said no, he 
would go to London to thee. I said, ' If thou canst 
not get quiet, father will get all thy love from 
thee;' for he was exceedingly loving to me this 
morning in bed. He said, ' No ! no ! must not get 
all the love from mother.' My natural love makes 
me express these things, yet not without some fear 



2i6 Pfiiiii'jtuii to his- tcife. 

lest I should be instrumental to draw thy mind 
too much into that nature which I myself want to 
be daily further and further drawn out of. 

" My dear love is to thee, and to my dear Guli, 
and to my dear S. W. Mind it also to S. H.- and 
J. B. and W. and S. B., and brother Daniel and his 
wife, and to the Pagetts, if thou see them, — which 
perhaps it might be convenient so to do if thou 
hast opportunity; for it seems some have endea- 
voured to instil into them as if we w^ere neglectful 
of them, and had not love for them answerable to 
theirs for us. 

" My dear, that the Lord may lead us more and 
more into His precious life, and under His holy 
power, and into the grace of, and subjection to 
His pure truth, that therein we may live to Him, 
and feel the daily change more and more into His 
holy image ! 

" Thine in all dearness, truth, and love, 

" I. P. 

" P.S. — Thomas Ellwood desires me to mind his 
love to thee and Guli Springett. 

" My soul hath been poured out, my dear, in 
prayer for thy health and ease, if the Lord might 
see good ; and for His doing thee good by the pain 
wherewith thou art alllictcd ; and for thy growth 
and prosperity in His truth. I also desire of the 
Lord prudence and Avisdoui^ to guide me towards 
my children." 



His ivrlt'uKjs in prison. 217 

Tlie term of Isaac Penington's liberation, after tlio 
release procured for him by the Earl of Ancram, 
was of less than a month's duration. The two 
wicked tyrants, Palmer and Bridgwater, contrived 
at the end of three weeks to have this unresisting 
Christian gentleman again imprisoned. He was 
then confined in a most unhealthy incommodious 
apartment of Aylesbury jail, which so much debili- 
tated his tender constitution, and brought on such a 
severe attack of illness, that for a considerable time 
it was thought he would not have recovered. But 
he did survive, and after recovery still remained 
incarcerated, whilst his meek patient spirit endured 
without repining all the evil thus heaped on him, 
believing, as he did, that his Heavenly Father 
would cause good to come out of it. Again he had 
recourse to his pen to convey words of comfort or 
Christian counsel to those towards whom his spirit 
was drawn. During his various imprisonments he 
wrote several religious works, and his correspond- 
ence was very extensive. To the Friends of the 
neighbouring meetings he occasionally wrote epis- 
tles, and very often he wrote privately to indi- 
viduals both at home and abroad. From letters 
which were written about this time the following 
are selected : — 



2i8 Lttkr fivin Ibnac PcniiKjtoii 

To Friends in Amersham. 

" Aylcsbuiy, 4th 3i-d mo. 166T. 

" Friends, 

" Our (spiritual) life is love, and peace, 
and tenderness; bearing one with another, and 
forgiving one another, not laying accusations one 
against another, but praying one for another, and 
helping one another with a tender hand, if there 
has been any slip or fall ; and waiting till the Lord 
gives sense and repentance, if sense and repentance 
in any be wanting. Oh ! wait to feel this spirit, 
and to be guided in this spirit, that ye may enjoy 
the Lord, and walk meekly, tenderly, peaceably, 
and lovingly one Avith another. Then ye will be a 
joraise to the Lord, and any thing that may be 
amiss ye will come over in the true dominion, even 
in the Lamb's dominion ; and that which is con- 
trary shall be trampled upon, as life rises and rules 
in you. So watch your hearts and ways; and 
watch one over another in that which is gentle and 
tender, and kno^vs it can neither preserve itself, nor 
help another out of the snare ; but the Lord must 
be waited on to do this in and for us all. So mind 
Truth, the service, enjo3anent, and possession of it 
in your hearts, and so walk as niny bi'iug no dis- 
u-race n])()n it, but uuiv l)e a i^'ood savour in the 
places where ye live — the meek, innocent, tender, 
righteous life reigning in you, governing over you, 
and shininu" throuuli you. 



to George Fox. 219 

" Your friend in the Trutii, and a desirer of your 
welfare therein, 

" I. P." 



" Dear G. F. 



To George Fox, 

"Aylesbury jail, 15th 5th mo., 1667. 



" I feel the tender mercy of the 
Lord, and some proportion of that brokenness, 
fear, and humility which I have long waited for, 
and breathed after. Oh! blessed be the Lord, who 
hath fitted and restored me, and brought up my 
life from the grave. 

" I feel a high esteem and dear love to thee, 
whom the Lord hath chosen, anointed, and ho- 
noured ; and, dear G. F., I beg thy love and entreat 
thy prayers, in faith and assurance that the Lord 
hears thee, that I may be yet more broken, that I 
may be yet more filled with the fear of the Lord, 
and may walk in perfect humility and tenderness 
of spirit before Him all my days. 

" Dear George, thou mayest know my wants and 
desires more fully than my own heart. Be helpful 
to me in tender love, that I may feel settlement 
and stability in the Truth, and perfect separation 
from all that is contrary thereto. 

"L P. 

" P. S. — I entreat thy prayers for my family, that 



2 20 Peuington to his U7ide. 

the name of the Lord may be exalter!, and his 
Truth flourish therein. Dear G. F., indeed my 
soul longs for the pure, full, and undisturbed reign 
of (spiritual) life in me." 



To Ms uncle. 

" 19th nh mo., 1668. 

" Dear Uncle, 

" There is true and tender love in 
my heart towards thee, and in that love I cannot 
but desire that it may be well with thee forever ; 
and to that end that thou mayest be acquainted 
with the power and life of religion, feeling it quick- 
ening and redeeming thy mind, heart, and soul to 
the Lord. Many take up a religion, as they ap- 
prehend, from the letter of the Scriptures, and 
strive to conform their hearts and practices thereto, 
which they think will avail. But, dear uncle, 
whoever receives not the (divine) power into his 
heart, which is stronger than the power which 
ci^.useth to sin, and which captivateth the mind 
from the Lord, he is not a true witness of salva- 
tion. The Lord hath revealed His precious living 
virtue, and His pure redeeming power in this our 
day; blessed forever be His name! Oh ! that thou 
miuhtest partake thereof, and in it receive the seal 
of thy everlasting redemption. 

•^Oh, dear uncle ! dost thou thirst after the living 



Peniitxjton to his coiisin. iii 

waters ? Dost thou feel in thy heart a cry to the 
Father of spirits daily ? This is precious with the 
Lord, and this the Lord will answer and accept. 

'^ But, indeed, many have a name to live, and 
think they live now to God, and shall live with 
Him forever, and yet are dead in His sight, being 
not in union with that which quickens, but only in 
a notion concerning it. Oh, dear uncle, cry to God 
night and day, thou mayest be of the number of 
the true sheep which hear and know the shepherd's 
voice, and in the certain leadings of His spirit fol- 
low Him, the Lamb, whithersoever he goes. 

" In the truth of my love I have sent thee the 
enclosed, w^hich may the Lord God of mercy, love, 
and power make serviceable to thee. I am thy 
truly affectionate nephew, sensible of thy love to 
me, and ansAvering it in returns of unfeigned love 
to thee. 

"I. P." 



To his Cousin. 



"Dear Cousin, 

" Thou hast had many wander- 
ings and outgoings, as well as others. Oli ! return 
now with others to the She]3herd and Bishop of 
souls, and feel thy mind stayed upon Him, that 
thou mayest go out from Him no more. The path 
He hath now revealed is plain, so that he who runs 



222 Ptnington to Jus cousin. 

may read, and a fool noed not err therein. But 
there is a wisdom which cannot know it, and will 
not wallv tliorein, which wisdom is near thee. ! 
take liccd of it. 

'' The Jews had the Scriptures, and searched 
them which foretold of the coming of Christ in the 
flesh, and yet could not thereby know Him when 
He came. How then was He to be known ? why, 
by the revelation of the spirit. So John the Baptist 
knew Him. For the same that sent John to baptize 
discovered Him to him. And so the disciples knew 
Him. ' Flesh and blood hath not revealed this to 
thee, but my Father.' And can any know his ap- 
pearance in this day but by the revelation of the 
spirit ? And can any be saved by Him but they 
that receive Him in spirit? Can any be saved from 
Satan's power but by the power of God working in 
the heart against it ? It will not serve any to think 
to be saved by righteousness and cleanness being 
imputed to them, for they must also feel cleanness 
within. ' Create in me a clean heart, God, and 
renew a right spirit within me,' said David. 

" Dear cousin, I have prayed for thee many 
times, especially whilst in prison, and I have felt for 
thy sore distress. But there is no reaping beneflt 
from my prayers, but as thou comest into the new 
way, and walkest with God in the new and living 
covenant. This is the plain despised path which 
the wisdom in all sorts of professors overlooks ; and 
so they miss i\iQ one thing necessary, and get up a 



Isaac Pe/nnr/foa's Uhcration. 223 

notion concerning Christ, instead of [coming to] 
Christ himself;' 



Isaac Penington had taken no legal steps to pro- 
cure his own release ; and from his letter to his wife 
of 7tli month, 1665, it seems that he did not wish 
her to " plead his cause." Those who had procured 
his imprisonment seemed determined that he should 
remain in prison until he consented to apologise. 
Under these circumstances a relative of Mary Pen- 
ington, whose name is unknow^n, took out a writ of 
Habeas Corpus early in 1668, which brought him 
to London for trial ; and as it was then ascertained 
that there was no case whatever to try — no record 
against him — he was at once liberated. Most other 
men would have sued for false imprisonment those 
who had illegally caused them so much suffering: 
but not so Isaac Penington. 

Some unprincipled men, who had observed his 
unresisting spirit, refused to pay him money which 
they owed him, and one of Mary Penington's 
relatives commenced a lawsuit to deprive her 
of one of her estates. The case was throw^n into 
Chancery, and was lost, because neither she nor her 
]iusband would take an oath to verify their claims. 
Mary Penington herself tells us of these trials, 
adding, " Thus we were stripped of my husband's 
estate, and wronged of a great part of mine. After 
this, we were tossed up and dow:: from place to 



224 Mary Penlngtous difficulty. 

place, to our great weariness and charge ; seeing no 
place to abide in, in this country, near to meetings, 
which had formerly been held at our house at Chal- 
fo]it- We were pressed in our spirits to stay 
amongst the Friends here, if any house could be 
found with conveniencies, though it were but ordi- 
narily decent. 

" We sought in many places within the compass of 
four or five miles from that meeting, but could find 
none. Yet having still such a sense of its being 
our right place, we had not freedom to settle any- 
where else ; so we boarded at Waltham-abbey during 
the summer, for our children's accommodation at the 
school there, and left our friends to enquire further 
for us. But in all that time of seeking it had never 
entered into our thoughts of buying a place. Nay, 
we rather endeavoured to have a state of disentan- 
glement, and to procure a habitation without land. 
But, seeing no place like to fit us in the country 
near those people, I told vny husband I was not 
willing to go from them into any other place, except 
it were to our own estate in Kent. This he liked 
not to do, taking exception against the air, and 
against the dirtiness of the place. This put me 
into a great strait. I could not bear, except to go 
to Kent, to leave those we had been instrumental in 
gathering to the Truth, and who had known our 
sufferings respecting our estate, and who com- 
passionated us. We and they had suffered together, 
and had been comforted together. They had a 



Mary Peninijtons difficidty. 225 

sense of our former condition, and were compassion- 
ate of us; we being in their sight so stripped, they 
expected no great things, such as would ansvv^er to 
our rank in the world; but rather wondered we 
Avere able to live so decently, and to pay every one 
their own. Our submitting thus to mean things, 
which our present condition occasioned, was honor- 
able before them, but strangers would have despised 
it, which would have been uneasy to us. 

" Thus it was that the temper amongst our 
acquaintances and countrymen here helped us 
to bear the meanness and the great straitness, so 
much more than we had ever known before, having 
been born to and having lived in great plenty. 
One day, when we were about going to Waltham 
Abbey, R. T. coming to see us, and bewailing our 
going out of the country, and having no place near 
them to return to, said, ' Why will you not buy 
some little place near us?' I refused this with 
great neglect, saying our condition would not ad- 
mit of such a thing, for we had not an hundred 
pounds beside our rents, and that we must sell 
some of my land if we do so. He told me he had 
an uncle who would sell a place that was about 
thirty pounds a 3'ear, which stood near the meeting- 
house at Amersham, and was in a healthy place, 
and that the house being trimmed might be made 
habitable. My husband was not there at that time; 
but soon after R. B. came, and I told him what 

E. T. had proposed; he seemed to encourage the 

15 



226 Mary Penington 

thing, and said he had heard there were some 
rooms in the house that might serve. 

'' That night Thomas Ell wood came out of Kent, 
and told me he had much to do to come back 
without selling my farm at West Bur. I laid these 
things together, and said, 'I think this must be 
our way, if we can sell West Bur to buy this that 
R. T. has offered, and with the overplus money put 
the house in a condition to receive us.' Next day 
I took Anne Bull with me, and went on foot to 
Woodside, to John Humphries' house, to view it, 
and its situation. I came in by Hill's-lane through 
the orchard ; but it looked so ruinous, and unlike 
what could be trimmed up for us, that I did not go 
into the house. So it quite fell through till we were 
going away, having been disappointed of a house 
at Beaconsheld, which my husband had been in 
treaty about. Upon this we pressed again to see 
the house, which I did, Thomas EUwood and H. B. 
going with me; my husband having said he left the 
decision to me. So I went into the house, and they 
viewed the grounds; and in hall' an hour's time I 
had the form of the thing in my mind, what to 
sell, what to pull down, what to add, and cast how 
it would be done with the overplus money. So 
I gave up to have them to treat for it, and let 
us know at Waltham ; which they did, and sent us 
word the title was clear, but they judged it £50 
too dear. When I received that message, I had 
my mind much to the Lord in this thhig; that if it 



pu} chases Woodslde. 227 

were the place He gave us liberty to be in, He 
would order it for us. I had requested of my hus- 
band that, seeing he had lost all, and the children 
had no provision but my estate, and that we were 
so tossed about, and had no dwelling-place for our- 
selves or our children, I might build some little 
thing for them. My husband was averse to build- 
ing ; but I, weighing that could I part with some 
land, and buy the place with the money, and put 
it in condition for us and them, and he not to be 
troubled with the building, but that it should be 
made over to Friends for me and the children ; then 
he, considering that the estate was mine, and that 
he had lost all of his, and that thus that suiTering 
had been brought upon me, was willing that I 
should do what I would. And he added that 
he took delight that I should be answered in this, 
though it was contrary to his temper either to own 
a house or to build one. 

" So I sent word to our friends that they should 
conclude for it ; that I did not matter £50 if they 
thought well of it in other respects. Then it went 
on. I was often in prayer to the Lord that I might 
be preserved from entanglements and cumber, and 
that it might be such an habitation as would mani- 
fest that the Lord was ai^ain restoring' us, and had 
a rcgjird to us. When it was bought, I went in- 
dustriously and cheerfully about the business, 
th jugh I saw many unusual incumbrances present 
t.iemselves before me; under which I still cried to 



228 Hov: Mary Penincjfon 

the Lord that I might go through in His fear, and 
not cumber or darken my mind. 

"After we had conckided for it, we met with a 
groat interruption ; the woman being advised to 
make prey upon us by an unreasonable demand 
for her consent. I earnestlj^ desired of the Lord to 
make way for us to get clear of the whole matter, 
though with great loss, rather than that we should 
run into entanglements in the management of it, 
the dread of running into debt was so heavy on 
me. But I got over that, and went on to plant, 
and to make provision for building, till the surveyor 
put me out of my own way. He put us upon rear- 
ing from the ground a new part, and my husband 
falling in with his plan, I could not avoid it. It 
brought great trouble upon me ; for I did not see 
my way clear as before. Having stepped from my 
own plan, and not knowing how to compass this 
charge, I took no pleasure in doing anything about 
it. At length I fell ill, and could not look after it, 
and great was my exercise ; one while fearing the 
Lord dkl not approve of Vvdiat I had done ; another 
while saying within myself, I did not seek great 
things nor vain glory in wishing a fine habitation. 
For as I cast it at first, and did not intend to do 
more, it would have been very ordinary. After 
many close exercises and earnest prayers, I came 
to a clearness that I had an honest intent in what I 
did, the full expense being undiscerned. I then 
felt my mind stayed, and acted without disquiet '„ 



huilt a house at Amersliam. :V-9 

and the building was afterwards managed by me 
rather in delight, through an assurance that the 
undertaking was a right one. 

" Part of the house fell down from the new cast- 
ing of it, and in the falling I was most remarkably 
preserved. This wrought in me a care how to 
compass what had to be done. After a time I felt 
an innocent enjoyment arise in my mind, and I 
went on very cheerfully, never looking out with 
apprehension; and when there was occasion for 
money to be paid, I found I still had it, having 
contracted my family expenses. My rents came in 
steadily, and by selling old houses, and bark, and 
several other things, the expenses of the building 
were met, and I then had pleasure instead of pain 
in laying out the money. Indeed my mind was so 
daily turned towards the Lord in conducting this 
affair, and so continually was I provided with 
money, that I often thought, and sometimes said, 
that if I had lived in the time when building of 
houses' for the service or worship of the Lord Avas 
accepted and blessed, I could not have had in such 
work a sweeter, stiller, or pleasanter time. 

'^ T set all things in order of a morning before I 
went to meeting, and so left them unthought of till 
I returned ; rarely finding them so much as to rise 
in my mind when going to, or when at meetings. 
Thus was my mind kept sweet and savory; for I 
had nothing in all that affair that disquieted me, 
having no further anxiety than that nothing should 



230 Mary Pcitln^itoiis liouse cowpletcd. 

be wasted ; and this I perceived by eye, without 
disquieting care being administered that would 
pi^oduce anger or fretting. I Lay down sweetly and 
very pleasantly at night, awaked with a sweet 
sense of the work before me in the morning, was 
emj)loyed all day thereat, but had no burden on 
my mind. This seasoned me, and kept me jDlea- 
sant and in health, and now I am free to leave this 
account of it with my children. 

" The building was completed in less than four 
years ; I could have compassed it in much less time, 
but then I should have been straitened for money ; 
doing it by degrees, it stole on undiscerned in point 
of charge. Now all is finished except the wash- 
house ; and I have taken up one hundred pounds ; 
and during that time we have not omitted being 
helpful to others in giving or lending in our places." 

It appears that the rebuilding of Woodside 
House commenced early in 1669 ; and having 
been, as Mary Penington states, nearly four j^ears 
in hands, it was probably finished about the close 
of 1672 or early in 1673. While in progress, the 
Peningtons occupied Berrie House near Amer- 
sham ; and several of the children were then at 
school at Waltham-abbey. The rebuilding must 
have been done in a very substantial manner, 
for we find the house is still, after a lapse of nearly 
two centuries, a tenantable habitation. It is now 
a farmhouse, and well known in Amersham as the 
ah ient residence of the Peningtons. 



Penh uj ten IS last imprisonment. 231 

Sad to relate, in 1672 Isaac Peniiigton was again 
made a prisoner. On this occasion his imprison- 
ment was in Reading jail, and arose ont of a visit 
he paid to Friends who were there confined. It 
appears from Besse's account/'' that a magistrate 
who was very bitter against the Friends, hearing 
from the jailer of Penington being there, sent for 
him, tendered to him the oath of allegiance, and 
then made his refusal to swear the ostensible rea- 
son for imprisonment. He continued a prisoner 
there for the space of twenty-one months, till 
Charles the Second released by letters patent such 
Friends as were imprisoned throughout the nation 
on suits of the Crown. Isaac Penington then left 
for the sixth and last time the confinement of a 
prison. A Friend, who was his fellow sufferer in 
several of his imprisonments, gives the following 
description of his conduct. 

" Being made willing by the power of God to 
suffer with great patience, cheerfulness, contented- 
ness and true nobility of spirit, he was a good ex- 
ample to me and others. I do not remember that 
ever I saw him cast down or dejected during the 
time of his close confinement ; or ever heard him 
speak hardly of those that persecuted him ; for he 

^' See p. 31, vol. i., of "-4 Collection of the Sufferings of the People called 
Quakers for the Testimony of a good conscience^ from, the time of their bcinj 
first distinguished hg that 7iame in the gear 1650, to the time of the Act com- 
monly called the Act of Toleration, granted to Protestant Dissenters in the 
first year of the reign of King William the Third and Qu^en Mary, in the 
year 1689," 2 vols. foliO; Lond. 1753. 



232 PenirKjtorf'S last h]q)ri.'Oir?ric}if. 

was of that temper to love enemieSj and to do good 
to them that hated him ; having received a mea- 
sure of that virtue from Christ his master that 
taught him so to do. Indeed, I may truly say, in 
the prison he was a help to the weak, being made 
instrumental in the hand of the Lord for that end. 
Oh ! the remembrance of the glory that did often 
overshadow us in the place of our confinement ; so 
that indeed the prison was made by the Lord, who 
was powerfully with us, as a pleasant palace. I 
was often, with many more, by those streams of 
[spiritual] life that did many times flow through 
him as a vessel, greatly overcome with a sense of 
the pure presence and love of our God, that was 
plentifully spread abroad in our hearts." What a 
testimony to the heavenly mindedness and truly 
Christian experience of that good man ! 

During the period of Isaac Penington's imprison- 
ment and his wife's building occupation, some other 
events occurred in the family which must be refer- 
red to in another chapter. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

1666-1669. 

Quaker meeting at Hedgerly. — Ambrose Bennett, the magistrate, breaks 
it up. — Judith Parker, the doctor's wife, remonstrates. — Bennett 
again imprisons Friends. — Release from prison. — Solemn meeting of 
Friends for the restoration of those who had been drawn away by 
John Perrot. — Perrot's mission to the Pope. — His imprisonment in 
Rome. — Release and return home. — Extravagant proceedings. — 
Establishment of meetings for discipline by George Fox. — Ellwood's 
choice of a wife. — Details of his courtship. — Is accepted. — Adven- 
turous journey with Gulielma M. Springett. — Ellwood's bravery. — 
Gulielma's return home. — Ellwood's marriage. — Isaac Pcnington's 
son lost at sea. — Ellwood's grief. — His poetical eflFusions. 

Whilst Isaac Penington remained a prisoner at 
Aylesbury, Thomas Ellwood, as the tutor of his 
sons, had considerable care of the family affairs, 
and he sometimes gives us an interesting glimpse 
into their history as well as his own. He tells us 
that " There was in those times (1666) a meeting 
once a month in the house of George Salter, a 
Friend of Hedgerly, to which he sometimes went. 
Morgan Watkins being then with us, he and I, with 
Guli and her maid, and one Judith Parker, wife of 
Dr. Parker, one of the College of Physicians, Lon- 
don, with a daughter of theirs (neither of whom 

233 



234 Bratalitij of Aiuhrosc Bennett. 

were Quakers, but as acqaaintances of Mary Pen- 
ington were with her on a visit) walked over to 
that meeting. 

'' The pLace was about a mile from the house of 
Ambrose Bennett, the justice Avho the summer 
before had sent me and some other Friends to 
Aylesbury prison, from the burial of Edward Parrot 
of Amersham. He, by what means I know not, 
getting notice not only of the meeting, but, as we 
supposed, of our being there, came himself to it; 
and as he came, catched up a stackwood stick, big 
enough to knock any man down, and brought it 
with him hidden under his cloak. Being come to 
the house, he stood for a while without the door, 
out of sight, listening to hear what was said, for 
Morgan was then speaking in the meeting. But 
certainly he heard yery imperfectly, if it was true 
what we heard he said afterwards among his com- 
panions, as an argument that Morgan was a Jesuit, 
viz : that in his preaching he trolled over Latin as 
fluently as ever he heard any one ; whereas J^Iorgan, 
good man ! was better versed in Welsh than in 
Latin, which I suppose he had never learned : I am 
sure he did not understand it. 

" When this martial justice, who at Amersham 
had with his drawn sword struck an unarmed man, 
who he knew would not strike again, had now 
stood some time abroad, on a sudden he rushed in 
among us, with the stackwood stick held up in his 
hand ready to stril^, crying out, ' Make way there !' 



Jadiili Parher. 



235 



and an ancient woman not getting soon enougli out 
of his way, he struck her with the stick a shrewd 
blow over the breast. Then, pressing through the 
crowd to the place where Morgan stood, he plucked 
him from thence, and caused so great a disorder in 
the room that it broke the meeting up ; yet would 
not the people go away, but tarried to see what the 
issue would be. 

" Then, taking pen and paper, he sat down at 
the table among us, and asked several of us our 
names, which we gave, and he set them down in 
writing. Amongst others he asked Judith Parker, 
the doctor's wife, what her name was, which she 
readily told him. Thence taking occasion to dis- 
course him, she so overmastered him by clear reason 
delivered in fine language, that he, glad to be rid 
of her, struck out her name and dismissed her ; yet 
did not she remove, but kept her place amongst us. 
When he had taken what number of names he 
thought fit, he singled out half a dozen ; wdiereof 
Morgan was one, I another, one man more, and 
three women, of which the woman of the house 
was one, although her husband then was, and for 
divers years before had been, a prisoner in the Fleet 
for tithes, and had no one to take care of his fimily 
and business but her, his wife. 

" Us six he committed to Aylesbury jail: which 
when the doctor's wife heard him read to the con- 
stable, she attacked him again, and having put him 
in mind that it was a sickly time, and that the 



236 Ellwood again in prison, 

pestilence was reported to be in that place, she, in 
handsome terms, desired him to consider in time 
how he would answer the cry of our blood, if by 
his sending us to be shut up in an infected place 
we should lose our lives. This made him alter 
his purpose, and by a new mittimus he sent us to 
the house of correction at Wycombe. And al- 
though he committed us upon the act for banish- 
ment, which limited a certain time for imprison- 
ment, yet he, in his mittimus, limited no time, but 
ordered us to be kept till we should be delivered 
by due course of law ; so little regardful was he, 
though a lawyer, of keeping to the letter of the 
law. 

"We were committed on the 13tli day of the 
month called March, 1666, and were kept close 
prisoners there till the 7th day of the month called 
June, which was some days above twelve weeks, 
and much above what the act required. Then were 
we sent for to the justice's house, and the rest being 
released, Morgan Watkins and I were required to 
find sureties for our appearance at next assizes ; 
Morgan being, in his second mittimus, represented 
as a notorious offender in preaching, and I as being 
upon the second conviction, in order to banishment. 
There we lay till the 25th day of the same month ; 
and then, by the favour of the Earl of Ancram, 
being brought before him at his house, we were 
discharged from the prison, upon our p'omise to 
appear, if at liberty and in health, at the assizes; 



Per rot and Luff at Rome. 237 

which we did, and were there discharged hy procla- 
mation. 

" After we had been discharged at the assizes, I 
returned to Isaac Penington's family at Dottrel's 
in Chalfont, and, as I remember, Morgan Watkins 
with me, leaving Isaac Penington a prisoner in 
Aylesbury jail. The lodging we had in this firm- 
house proving too strait and inconvenient for the 
family, I took larger and better lodgings for them 
in Berrie House at Amersham. 

" Some time after was that memorable meeting 
appointed to be holden at London, through a divine 
opening in that eminent servant of God, George 
Fox, for the restoring: and brinirinGr in a^ain of 
those who had gone out from Truth, and from the 
holy unity of Friends, by the means and ministry of 
John Perrot. This man came pretty early among 
Friends, and too early took upon him the minis- 
terial office ; and being, though little in person, yet 
great in opinion of himself, nothing less would serve 
him than to go and convert the Pope. In order 
thereunto, having a better man than himself, John 
Luff, to accompany him, they travelled to Eome, 
where they had not been long ere they were taken 
up and clapped into prison. LuiT w\as put into the 
Inquisition, and Perrot in their Bedlam for mad- 
men. Luff died in prison, not without v*x'll groiuided 
suspicion of being murdered there. But Perrot was 
kept in Eome for some time, and now and then 
sent over an epistle to be printed here, v\aritten in 



238 John Perrot a troiihJe to Friends. 

such an affected and fantastic style, as might have 
induced an indifferent reader to believe they in 
Rome had suited the place of his confinement to 
his condition." 

Without going into all of Ellwood's details about 
this John Perrot, I may brietiy state that Friends, 
through great efforts and interest, succeeded in pro- 
curing his release. But after his return home he 
went off into much eccentricity ; so that those who 
had been his friends could not approve of his pro- 
ceedings, and then he declared against them. The 
report of his great sufferings at Rome, and the 
assumption of great sanctity of manner and ap- 
pearance gained him the compassion of many kind- 
hearted Friends, on whose feelings he wrought in 
declaring for extreme notions and observances, 
which more experienced, stable, religious minds 
could not unite with. But, so earnest was Perrot, 
and so persevering, that he got up a party which 
supported him. Thomas Ellwood says, although 
he never had any esteem for the man, either in 
regard to his natural parts or ministerial gift, yet 
he had sympathized in degree with those who had 
taken up his cause, till the Lord opened his under- 
standing ; which was some time prior to the calling 
of the meeting in question, of which he speaks thus : 

'' When that solemn meeting was appointed at 
London, for a travail of spirit on behalf ol' those 
who had thus gone out, that they might rightly 
return, and be sensibly received into the unity of 



George Fox. 239 

the ]jody again, my spirit rejoiced, and with glad- 
ness of heart I went to it, as did many others both, 
of city and country. With great simplicity and 
humility of mind Ave did there acknowledge our 
error, and take shame to ourselves. And some 
that lived at too remote a distance in this nation, 
as well as beyond the seas, upon notice reaching 
them of that meeting, and the intended service of 
it, did the like by writing, in letters directed to and 
openly read in the meeting ; which for that purpose 
was continued many days. 

" Not long after this, George Fox was moved 
of the Lord to travel through the country, from 
county to county, to advise and encourage Friends 
to set up monthly and quarterly meetings, for the 
better ordering of the affairs of the church ; in 
taking care of the poor; and for exercising true 
gospel discipline in dealing with any that might 
walk disorderly under our name ; and to see that 
such as marry amongst us act fairly and clearly in 
that respect. 

'' When he came into this country, I was one of 
the many Friends that were with him at the meet- 
ing for that purpose. Afterwards I travelled with 
Guli and her maid into the West of England, to 
meet him there, and to visit Friends in those parts ; 
:md v\^e went as far as Topsliani in Devonshire be- 
fore we found him. He had been in Cornwall, and 
was then returning, and came in unexpectedly to 
Topsham wliere we were. Had he not then come 



240 Elhvood thinks of marriage. 

thither, we were to have left that day for Cornwall. 
But then we turned back, and went with him 
through Devonshire, Somersetshire, and Dorset- 
shire, having generally very good meetings ; and 
the work he was chiefly concerned in went on very 
prosperously. 

" By the time we got back from that journey, the 
summer was pretty far gone; and the following 
winter I spent wdth the children of the family as 
before, without any remarkable alteration in my 
circumstances until the next spring (1669), when I 
found in myself a disposition of mind to change 
my single life for a married state. The object of 
my affection was a Friend whose name was Mary 
Ellis, whom for divers years I had had an acquaint- 
ance with, in the way of common friendship only ; 
and in whom I thought I saw those fair prints of 
truth and solid virtue which I afterwards found in 
her to a sublime degree. What her condition was 
in a Avorldly view as to estate, I was wholly a 
stranger to, nor did I desire to know. I had once, 
a 3'ear or two before, had an opportunity to do her 
a small piece of service in which she wanted some 
assistance ; wherein I acted with all sincerity and 
freedom of mind, not expecting or desiring an}^ 
advantage, but in the satisfaction of being able to 
serve a friend and help the helpless. 

" That little intercourse of common kindness 
between us ended without the least thought (I am 
verily persuaded on her part, and well assured on 



EllioootTs coiirtslilp. 241 

my own) of any other relation than that of a free 
and fair friendship. Nor did it lead us into any 
closer conversation, or more intimate acquaintance 
one with the other, than had been before. But 
some time after, and that a good while, I found my 
heart secretly drawn towards her. Yet was I not 
hasty in proposing, but waited to feel a satisfactory 
settlement of mind therein, before I took any step 
thereto. 

" After some time, I took an opportunity to open 
my mind therein unto my much honoured friends 
Isaac and Mary Penington ; who then stood paren- 
tum loco (instead of parents) to me. They, having 
solemnly weighed the matter, expressed their unity 
therewith ; and indeed their approbation was no 
small confirmation to me. Yet took I still further 
deliberation, often retiring in spirit to the Lord, and 
asking Him for direction before I addressed myself 
to her. At length, as I was sitting all alone wait- 
ing upon the Lord for counsel and guidance, I felt 
the words sweetly arise in me, as if I had heard a 
voice which said, ' Go, and prevail.' Faith spring- 
ing up in my heart, I immediately arose and went, 
nothing doubting. 

" When I came to her lodgings, which were 
about a mile from me, her maid told me she was in 
her chamber. Having been under some indispo- 
8 lion which had obliged her to keep her chamber, 
she had not yet left. I therefore desired the maid 
to acquaint her mistress that I was come to give 
16 



242 EJlwooiCs courtsliip. 

her a visit ; whereupon I was invited to go up to 
lier. And after some little time spent in common 
conversation, feeling my spirit weightily concerned, 
I solemnly opened my mind unto her with respect 
to the particular business I came about ; which I 
soon perceived was a great surprisal to her ; for she 
had taken an apprehension, as others also had 
done, that mine eye had been fixed elsewhere, and 
nearer home. 

" I used not many words to her ; but I felt as if a 
divine power went along with the words, and fixed 
the matter expressed by them so fast in her breast, 
that, as she afterwards acknowledged to me, she 
could not shut it out. I made at that time but a 
short visit. Having told her I did not expect any 
answer from her then, but desired she would in 
the most solemn manner weigh the proposal made, 
and in due time give me such an answer thereunto 
as the Lord should give her, I took my departure, 
leaving the issue to the Lord. 

" I had a journey then at hand, which I foresaw 
would take me up two weeks' time. Wherefore, 
the day before I was to set out, I went to visit her 
again, to acquaint her with my journey, and excuse 
my absence ; not yet pressing her for an answer, 
but assuring her that I felt in myself an increase of 
alfection to her, and hoped to receive a suitable 
return from her in the Lord's time ; to whom in 
the meantime I committed l)oth her, myself, and 
the concern between us. And indeed I found at 



An adventure on the road, 2^^ 

my return that I could not have left it in a better 
hand ; for the Lord had been my advocate in my 
absence, and had so far answered all her objections, 
that when I came to her again she rather acquainted 
me with them than urged them. From that time 
forwards we entertained each other with affection- 
ate kindness, in order to marriage ; which yet we 
did not hasten to, but went on deliberately. 

" While this affair stood thus with me, I had oc- 
casion to take another journey into Kent and 
Sussex ; which yet I would not mention here but 
for a particular accident which befel me on the 
way. The occasion of this journey was to accom- 
pany Mary Penington's daughter, Guli, to her uncle 
Springett's in Sussex, and from thence among her 
tenants. "We tarried in London the first night, and 
set out next morning on the Tunbridge road. The 
Seven Oaks lying in our way, we put in there to 
bait ; but truly we had much ado to get either pro- 
visions or room for ourselves or horses, the house 
was so full of guests, and those not of the better 
sort. For the Duke of York being, as we were 
told, on the road that day for the "Wells, divers of 
liis guards and some of the meaner sort of his re- 
tinue had nearly filled all the inns there. I left 
John Gigger, who waited on Guli in this journey, 
and was her menial servant, to take care for the 
horses, while I did the like as well as I could for 
her. When I got a little room to put her into, I 
went to see what relief the kitchen would afford us ; 



244 ^^'^ adventure on the road. 

and with much ado, by praying hard and paying 
dear, I got a small joint of meat from the spit. 

" After a short repast, being weary of our quar- 
ters, we quickly mounted and took the road again, 
willing to hasten from a place where we found 
nothing but rudeness. A knot of fellows followed 
us, designing, as we afterwards found, to make 
sport for themselves. We were on a spot of fine, 
smooth, sandy way, whereon the horses trod so 
softly that we heard them not till one of them was 
upon us. I was then riding abreast with Guli, and 
discoursing with her ; when, on a sudden, hearing 
a little noise, and turning mine eye that way, I saw 
a horseman coming up on the further side of her 
horse, having his left arm stretched out, just ready 
to take her about the waist, and pluck her off 
backwards from her own horse, to lay her before 
him on his. I had but just time to thrust forth my 
whip between him and her, and bid him stand off. 
At the same time, reining my horse to let hers go 
before me, I thrust in between her and him, and, 
being better mounted than he, my horse run him 
off. But his horse, though weaker than mine, being 
nimble, he slipped by me, and got up to her on the 
near side, endeavouring to seize her; to prevent 
which I thrust in upon him again, and in our 
jostling we drove her quite out of the w^ay, and 
almost into the next hedge. 

" While we were thus contending, I heard a noise 
of loud laughter behind us, and, turning my head 



A)t adventure on tlie road. 



45 



that way, I saw three or four horsemen more, who 
could scarcely sit their horses for laughing, to see 
the sport their companion made with us. From 
thence I saw it was a plot laid, and that this rude 
fellow was not to be dallied with, wherefore I ad- 
monished him to take warning in time, and to give 
over, lest he repented too late. He had in his hand 
a short thick truncheon, which he held up at me ; 
laying hold on it with a strong gripe, I suddenly 
wrenched it out of his hand, and threw it at as 
great a distance behind me as I could. 

" Whilst he rode back to fetch his truncheon, I 
called up honest John Gigger, who was indeed a 
right honest man, and of a temper so thoroughly 
peaceable that he had not hitherto put in at all. 
But now I roused him, and bid him ride so close 
up to his mistress's horse on the further side that 
no horse might thrust in between, and I would 
endeavour to guard the near side. But he, good 
man, not thinking perhaps that it was respectful 
enough for him to ride so near his mistress, left 
room enough for another to push in between. 
And, indeed, as soon as the brute had recovered 
his truncheon, he came up directly hither, and had 
thrust in, had not I by a nimble turn chopped in 
upon him, and kept him at bay. I then told him I 
had hitherto spared him, but I wished him not to 
provoke me further. This I said with such a tone 
as bespoke high resciiLiiicnt of fii'j abuse put upon 
us, and withal I pressed so close upon him with my 



246 All adcenture on the road. 

horse, that I suffered him not to come up any more 
to GuH. 

" His companions, who kept an equal distance 
behind us, both heard and saw all this, and there- 
upon two of them advancing, came up to us. I 
then thought I was likely to have my hands full, 
but Providence turned it otherwise. For they, 
seeing the contest rise so high, and probably fear- 
ing it would rise higher, not knowing where it 
might stop, came in to part us ; which they did by 
taking him away, one of them leading his horse 
by the bridle, and the other driving him on with 
his whip, and so carried him off. 

" One of their company stayed behind, and it so 
happened that a great shower just then falling, we 
betook ourselves for shelter under a thick, well 
spread oak which* stood hard by. Thither also 
came that other person whom I observed wore the 
Duke's livery. Whilst we put on our defensive 
garments against the weather, he took the oppor- 
tunity to discourse with me about the man who had 
been so rude to us, endeavoring to excuse him by 
alleging that he had drunk a little too liberally. 
I let him know that one vice would not excuse 
another ; that although but one of them was ac- 
tually concerned in the abuse, yet he and the rest 
of them were ' abettors of it, and accessaries to it ; 
that I was not ignorant whose livery they wore, 
and was well assured their lord would not maintain 
them in committing such outrages upon travellers 



An adventure on flic wad. 247 

on the road, to our injury and his dislionour; that 
I understood the Duke was coming down, and that 
they might expect to be called to an account for 
this rude proceeding. He begged hard that we 
would pass the offence, and make no complaint to 
their lord ; for he said he knew the Duke would be 
very severe, and that it would be the utter ruin of 
the young man. When he had said what he could, 
he went off before us, without any ground given 
him to expect favour ; and when we had fitted our- 
selves for the weather, we followed at our own 
pace. 

" When we came to Tunbridge, I set John Gigger 
foremost, bidding him lead on briskly through the 
town, and, placing Guli in the middle, I came close 
up after her. We were expected, I perceived ; for, 
though it rained very hard, the street was thronged 
with men who looked very earnestly on us, but did 
not offer any affront. We had a good way to ride 
beyond Tunbridge, and beyond the Wells, in by- 
ways among the woods, and were the later for the 
hindrance we had on the way ; when, being come 
to Herbert Springett's house, Guli acquainted her 
uncle what danger and trouble she had met on the 
way, and he w^ould have had the persons prose- 
cuted, but since Providence had so well preserved 
her and delivered her from it, she chose to pass by 
the offence. 

'' When Guli had finished the business she went 
upon, we returned home, and I delivered her safe 



248 EUicooiTi 

to licj- glad mother. From that time forward 1 
continued my visits to my best beloved friend until 
we were married, which was on the 28th of the 
Eighth month (October), 1669. We took each other 
in a select meeting of the ancient and grave Friends, 
holden in a Friend's house, where, in those times, 
not only the monthly meeting for bisiness but the 
public meeting for worship Avas sometimes kept. 
A very solemn meeting it was, and in a weighty 
frame of spirit we were, in which we sensibly felt 
the Lord was with us, and was joining us ; the 
sense whereof remained with us all our lifetime, 
and was of good service, and very comfortable to 
us on all occasions. 

" My next care was to secure my wife what 
money she had, and which with herself were be- 
stowed on me. For I held that it would be an 
abominable crime in me, and w^ould savour of 
the highest ingratitude, if I, though it were but 
through negligence, should leave any room for my 
father, in case I should be suddenly taken awa^^, to 
break in upon her estate, and deprive lier of any 
part of that which had been and ought to be 
her own. Wherefore, A\dth tb.e first opportunity (as 
I remember, the very next djiy, and Ijefbre I knew 
particularl}- wluit she liad) I made my will, and 
tliereb}' secui'ed to her whatever I was possessed of, 
as well as all that which she brought, Avitli that 
little which I had before I married her. 

" Towards the latter piirt of the summer follow- 



Ibaac Peuin(jto}i8 son drowned. 249 

ing, I went into Kent again, and in my passage 
through London received the unwelcome news of 
the loss of a very hopeful youth, wdio had formerly 
been under my care for education. This was 
Isaac Penington, the second son of my wortliy 
friends Isaac and Mary Penington, a boy of ex- 
cellent parts, whose great abilities bespoke him 
likely to be a great man, had he li\ed to be a man. 
He was designed to be a merchant, and before he 
was thought ripe enough to be entered thereunto, 
his parents at somebody's request gave leave that 
he might go a voyage to Barbadoes ; to spend a 
little time, see the place, and be somewhat ac- 
quainted with the sea. He went under the care 
and conduct of a choice Friend and sailor, John 
Grove of London, who was master of a vessel 
which traded to that island. He made the voyage 
thither very well, found the watery element agree- 
able, had his health there, liked the place, was nmch 
pleased with his entertaimnent there, and was re- 
turning home with a little cargo in return for goods 
he had taken out as ventures from his divers friends; 
when, on a sudden, through unwariness he dropped 
overboard, and the vessel being under sail with a 
brisk gale blowing he was irrecoverably lost. 

" This unhappy accident took from the afflicted 
master all the pleasure of the voyage, and he 
moaned for the loss of this youth as if he had been 
his own, yea, onl}" son ; for, as he was in himself 
a man of worthy mind, so the boy by his witty 



250 'I'/tunui'S ElliCoodu (jncf. 

and liiuKlsomc behaviour in general, and courteous 
carriage towards him in particukir, had very much 
wrought into his favour. 

" As for me, I thought it was one of the sharj)- 
est strokes I had ever met with ; for I had loved 
the child very well, and had conceived great hopes 
of general good from him ; and it grieved me the 
deeper to think how deeply it would pierce his 
afflicted parents. 

" Sorrow for this disaster was my companion on 
that journey, and I travelled the roads under great 
exercise of mind, revolving in my thoughts the 
manifold accidents which attend the life of man, 
and the great uncertainty of all human things. I 
could find no centre, no firm basis for the mind of 
man to rest upon, but the Divine Power and will 
of the Almighty. This consideration wrought in 
my spirit a sort of contempt of the supposed hap- 
piness and pleasure of this w^orld, and raised my 
contemplation higher. This, as it ripened, came 
into some degree of digestion in the following lines, 
Avhich I inclosed in a letter of condolence T sent by 
the first post into Buckinghamshire to my dear 
friends, the afflicted parents. Upon my return 
home, going to visit them, we sat down, and sol- 
emnly mixed our sorrows and tears together." 



His '' SoJltaru Thoujhtsr 251 

SOLITARY THOUGHTS 

ON THE UNCERTAINTY OF ALL HUMAN THINGS. 

" Transibunt cito, quas vos mansura putatis." 

What ground, alas ! has any man 

To set his heart on things below, 
Which, when they seem most like to stand, 
Fly like an arrow from a bow ? 

Things subject to exterior sense 
Are to mutation most prepense. 

If stately houses we erect, 

And therein think to take delight. 
On what a sudden are we checked, 

And all our hopes made groundless quite ! 
One little spark in ashes lays 
What we were building half our days. 

If on estates an eye we cast. 

And pleasure there expect to find, 
A secret providential blast 

Brings disappointment to our mind. 

Who's now on top ere long may feel 
The circling motion of the wheel. 

If we our tender babes embrace. 

And comfort hope in them to have, 
Alas ! in what a little space 

Is hope laid with them in the grave ! 
What promiseth content 
Is in a moment from us rent. 

But is there nothing, then, that's sure 

For man to fix his heart upon ? 
Nothing that always will endure 

When all these transient things ai-e gone ? 



252 ElliooocTs poetry. 

Sad state where man, with grief oppress'd, 
Finds nought wherein his mind may rest. 

Oh yes ! there is a God above, 
Who unto men is also nigh, 
On whose unalterable love 
We may with confidence rely. 

No disappointment can befall 
While trusting Him that's All in All. 

In Him o'er all if we delight, 

And in His precepts pleasure take. 
We shall be sure to do aright. 
'Tis not His nature to forsake. 
A proper object He alone 
For man to set his heart upon. 



T. E. 



Kent, 4th, Uh mo. 1670. 



I add two hymns written by Thomas Ellwood 
about the same time, in consequence of mental 
trouble induced partly by the persecuting spirit 
abroad, and partly by his father's conduct towards 
him and his wife soon after their marriage. They 
have some poetical merit, and much pious feeling. 

TO THE HOLY ONE. 

Eternal God ! Preserver of all those 
(Without respect of person or degree,) 

Who in thy faithfulness their trust repose, 
And place their confidence alone in Thee, 

Be Thou my succour ; for thou know'st that I 

On Thy protection, Lord, ivlonc rely. 



EIlwoo(Ts ijoetry. 253 

Surround me, Father, with thy mighty power; 

Support me daily b}^ thine holy arm ; 
Preserve me faithful in the evil hour ; 

Stretch forth thine hand to save me from all harm ; 
Be thou my helmet, breastplate, sword, and shield, 
And make my foes before thy power to yield. 

Teach me the spiritual battle so to fight 

That when the enemy shall me beset, 
Armed cap-a-pie with armour of thy light, 

A perfect conquest o'er him I may get, 
And with Thy battle-axe may cleave the head 
Of him who bites that part whereon I tread. 

Then, being from domestic foes set free. 

The cruelties of men I shall not fear, 
But in Thy quarrel. Lord, undaunted be. 

And for Thy sake the loss of all things bear. 
Yea, though in dungeons lock'd, with joy will sing 
A song of praise to Thee, my God, my King. 

T. E. 

Sussex, 11th mo. 16G9. 



A SONG OF PRAISE. 

Thy love, dear Father ! and thy tender care 
Have in my heart begot a strong desire 

To celebrate th}- name with praises rare. 
That others, too, thy goodness may admire. 
And learn to yield to what thou dost require. 

Many have been the trials of my mind, 
My exercises great, great my distress ; 

Full oft my ruin hath my foe designed; 
My sorrows then rav pen cannot express, 
Nor could the best of men afford redress. 



254 Ell'wood's poetrjj. 

When thus beset to Thee I lift mine eye, 

And with a mournful heart my moan do make, 

How oft with eyes o'erHowing did I cry, 
My God, my God, oh do not me forsake, 
Regard my tears, some pity on me take ! 

And to the glory of th}' holy Name, 

Eternal God ! whom I both love and fear, 

I hereby do declare I never came 

Before thy throne, and found thee loth to hear, 
But always ready with an open ear. 

And though sometimes thou seem'st thy face to hide, 
As one that had withdrawn thy love from me, 

' Tis that my faith may to the full be tried, 
And that I thereby ma,y the better see 
How weak I am, when not upheld by thee. 

For underneath thy holy arm I feel, 

Encompassing with strength as with a wall, 

That if the enemy trip up my heel. 

Thou ready art to save me from a fall. 
To thee belong thanksgivings over all ! 

And for thy tender love, my God, my King, 
My heart shall magnif}^ thee all my days ; 

My tongue of thy renown shall daily sing ; 
My pen shall also grateful trophies raise, 
As monuments to thy eternal praise. 

Thomas EUwood was an industrious and volu- 
minous writer. The History of his Life, written 
by himself, is a most interesting and characteristic 
piece of autobiography. It reached a second edi- 
tion within the year after his death, and has since 



EJlwoocTs prose luorks. 2^^ 

been frequently reprinted. His longest work is 
his Sacred History of the Holy Scriptures of tli.e 
Old and the New Testament; digested into due 
metliod loith respect to order of time ami place, iclth 
observations tending to illustrate some passages 
therein. It is full of his own raciness and mother 
witj is very pleasant reading, and reached a fourth 
edition in 1778. His other prose writings are 
nearly all on controversial subjects in defence of 
the doctrines of Friends, and have never been re- 
published. The titles of some of them are charac- 
teristic of the age, and will sufficiently indicate 
their tenor : 

The FouiKliition of T^'-thes Shaken ; 

An Antidote against the infection of W. Rogers' 

book ; 
A Seasonable Disswasive from Persecntion ; 
A Fair Examination of a Foul Paper; 
Rogero-Mastix, a Rod for W. R. ; etc. 

His greatest poetical eifort is his Havldels, the 
life of David, King of Israel, a sacred poem in five 
books, which, as the author in his preface informs 
us, was composed not with a view to publication, 
but for his " own diversion." It first appeared in 
1712, during his lifetime, and reached its fourth 
and last edition in 1792. Many of his shorter 
pieces on serious subjects are interspersed through 
the autobiography, and generally owe more of tlieir 
interest to the subjects than to the execution. 

I have now before me an octavo volume of great 



256 EUwoo(Ts manuscrljjt 2^oems. 

antiquarian and personal interest to all admirers of 
EUwood. It contains about eighty leaves of strong 
paper tinted by age, is bound in green and gold, 
with gilt edges, and is in excellent preservation.* 
It contains Ellwood's shorter poems, written by his 
own hand, and severally signed with his initials. 
Most of them are serious or devotional ; several are 
merely transcripts of those in the autobiography ; 
but others are of a more secular character, such as 

A Satyrick Poem on the Wickham Plaj^. its Actors 

and Abettors ; 
A Prospect ; 
A Direction to my Friend inquiring the way to my 

House ; 
On an Envious Rayler ; 
To my Courteous Friend, Edmond Waller, the 

Poet, etc. 

Although Ellwood had Milton for his " master," 
and Waller for his " courteous friend" and neigh- 
bour at Beaconsfield, his OAvn poems are not of a 
high order, but they evince a pious, kindly, playful 
disposition, a sense of humour, a love of nature and 
natural beauty, considerable taste and learning, and 
are always perfectly intelligible, which cannot be 
alleged of more eminent poets in times nearer to 
our own. Of all the pieces in this volume the 

"^" For the inspection of this interesting MS. volume, and liberty to 
select from it, I am indebted to the kindness of my friend Anna Huntley 
of High Wycombe, into whose possession it came through her father, 
the late Joseph Steevens of that place. 



EJlwoocTs cjnfapJi on Milton. 257 j 

following is the most remarkable. It was pro- i 

bably written shortly after Milton's death, which ! 

occurred in 1674, and evinces that, 

" though fallen on evil days, 
On evil days though fallen, and evil tongues, 

In darkness, and with dangers compassed round, ,! 

And solitude," j 

the great poet had in his Quaker pupil one who 

fully appreciated his sublime genius, and foresaw \ 

the grandeur of his future reputation. 

Upon the Excellently learned 

JOHN MILTON. 

An Epitaph. 

Within this arch embalm'd doth lie 

One whose high fame can never die ; i 

Milton, whose most ingenious pen | 

Obliged has all learned men. 

Great his undertakings were, 

(None greater of their kind,) ■ 

Which sufficiently declare 

The worth and greatness of his mind. ' 

Mean adversaries he declin'd, 
And battle with the chiefest join'd. 

Xot e'en the Ro3^al Portraiture ' 

Proudly could before him stand, ' 

Bat fell and broke. 1 
Not able, as it seems, t'endure 

The heavy stroke 1 

Of his Iconodades hand. ^ 

'■7 



258 ElhcoocTs epitaiyli on Milton. 

Thus the so-fam'd Eikon Basilike 
Became the trophy of his victory. 



On his triumphant chariot too did wait 

One who had long the crown of learning wore, 
And of renown had treasur'd up good store, 
But never found an equal match before, 



Which puff'd him uj), and made him too elate. i 

This was the great Salmatius, he whose name ! 

Had tower'd so high upon the wing of fame, j 

And never knew till now ' 

What 'twas alas ! to bow ; ' 

For many a gallant captive b}^ the heel \ 

Had he in triumph dragg'd at's chariot- wheel. 1 

But now is fain to stoop, and see the bough | 
Torn from his own to deck another's brow. 

This broke his heart ; for, having lost his fame, ' 

He died 'tis hard to say whether thro' grief or shame. j 

Thus great Salmatius, in his winding sheet, ' 
Lies prostrate at far greater Milton's feet — 
Milton in whom all brave endowments meet! 

The majest}' of Poesy he reviv'd, 

The common road forsaking, 

And unto Helicon a new track making, 
To write in measures without rhyme contriv'd. 

He knew the beauty of a verse well made ! 

Doth in a just and due proportion lie I 

Of parts, true feet, right cadence, symphony, i 

(A thing ])y vulgar poets lightly weighed,) ] 

Not in the tinkling chime j 

Of a harsh and far-fetch'd rhvme. ' 



Ellwoods epitajyli on Milton. 259 

Two great examples of this kind he left, 
(The natural issue of his teeming brain) ; 

One shows how man of Eden was bereft; 
In t'other man doth Paradise regain, 
So far as naked notion can attain. 

Nature in him a large foundation laid. 

And he had also superbuilt thereon 
A structure great, indeed, and fair enough. 
Of well-prepar'd and finelj'-polish'd stuff, 

Admir'd by all but equalled by none. 

So that of him it might be said 
(And that most truly too,) 
Nature and Art 
Had play'd their part, 
As if they had a wager laid 

Which of them most for him should do. 

His natural abilities 

Were doubtless of the largest size ; 

And thereunto he surely had acquir'd 
Learning as much as could be well desir'd. 
More known his learning was not than admir'd. 

Profound his judgment was and clear; 

His apprehension of the highest strain ; 
His reason all before it down did l)ear, 

So forcible, demonstrative, and plain 
It did appear. 

Lofty fancy, deep conceit, 
St3de concise and language great 
Rendered his discourse complete, 
On whatsoever subject he did treat. 
Invention never higher rose 
In poetic strains or prose. 



iGo ElhooocTs cpltapJi on Milton. 

In tongues he so much skill had got, 
He might be called The Polyglott. 

Even they 'gainst whom he writ 
Could not but admire his wit, 

And were forced to confess 
(For indeed it was in vain 
To deny a thing so plain,) 

That their parts than his were less. 

Unto him the Muses sent, — 
And that, too, not in compliment ; 
For doubtless 'twas his due, 
As all that knew him knew — 
The title of Blast Excellent, 
Of which title may he rest 
Now and evermore possess'd I 



T. E. 



CHAPTER IX. 

1670. 

William Penn recalled from Ireland. — Reconciliation with his father. — 
Decline of the Admiral's health. — Conventicle Act. — William Penn a 
prisoner with William Meade. — His letter to his father from prison. — • 
Penn and Meade at the bar. — Indicted for a riot. — The jury refuse to 
bring them in guilty. — The Recorder repeatedly insists that they 
must reconsider their verdict. — They persist in presenting the same. — 
Are confined to the juryroom for two nights and two days without 
food. — Ultimate triumph of jury, and liberation of the prisoners. — 
Jurymen and prisoners committed for pretended contempt of court. — 
Penn's letters from prison to his dying father. — Release from prison. — 
The jurymen bring an action against the Recorder for false imprison- 
ment. — Triumph of the jury. — Death of Admiral Sir William Penn. — 
His last advice to his son. — The Admiral's monument.— William 
Penn's ability as a controversialist. 

"William Penn had been about eight months 
in Ireland attending to the affairs of the Shangarry 
estate, when he was recalled in consequence of his 
father's declining health. The admiral by that 
time had fully realized the strength of his son's 
religious convictions. No longer hoping to influ- 
ence them by worldly considerations, or to see 
them altered, he was anxious only for a reconcilia- 
tion, wliich took place immediately on William's 
return. This was a great joy to his mother, and a 

261 



262 Adinlral Peru i 8 lieaJtlt dcdbies. 

comfort to both father and soiij between whom 
mutual confidence was entirely restored. The ad- 
miral's health did not improve. Hard service and 
active energetic work of both body and mind, under 
many varieties of circumstance and climate, had 
done a work not to be undone. The hardy seaman, 
perceiving that inroads on his constitution had been 
made which could not be remedied except by total 
rest, gave up his public duties, and retired from the 
Navy Board. But the rest and retirement came 
too late ; health did not follow. However, a great 
change in his religious views and feelings came 
over his mind, Avhen his son could speak to him and 
act as he did with the freedom indicated by the 
events and letters which follow. 

Doubtless, William's presence was then very 
comforting to the admiral. The remembrance of 
the part in life which his son had so early chosen, 
must have acted as a continual reminder that he 
himself had, in his worldly aspirations, been tread- 
ing a very different path ; that he had in fact been 
merely pursuing shadows wdiicli had fled before 
him, and which now neither in retrospect nor in 
hope could yield happiness. The honours of the 
gay world, on which he had once calculated so 
eagerly, had altogether lost their charm, a cloud 
had fallen on them, as the thoughts and prospect of 
death and eternity opened before him. From this 
]ioint of view he was now disposed to commend 
William's unflinchinG: adherence to his own con- 



The Conventicle Act. 26 ^ 

victions of truth, which had led to his imprisonment 
the previous year. No opposition whatever was 
now made to his frequenting the Friends' meetings 
in the city, at which WiUiam was not only a regular 
attender but at which he often preached. The 
admiral's family residence was then at Wanstead. 

The spirit of religious persecution had at this 
juncture reached a great height in London, the 
Conventicle Act having been recently renewed, with 
additional clauses to render it more severe than 
ever against dissent from the Established Church. 
All dissenters except the Friends endeavoured 
to hide themselves or their meetings to avoid its 
penalties. But when the city authorities took 
upon them to nail up the doors and windows of the 
Friends' meeting-houses, they met in the yard, or, 
where no such space existed, assembled in the 
adjoining street. And thus it was on the First-day, 
the 14th of Seventh-month, 1670, that those who 
attended Gracechurch-street meeting, finding the 
meeting-house closed against them, assembled in 
the space in front, where William Penn addressed 
them at a considerable length. A band of mus- 
keteers came up to arrest him, and were making 
a great commotion to get to him, when William 
Meade interposed, and asked them to wait till he 
finished speaking, and that he would then engage 
him to be forthcoming. They, finding great difii- 
culty to get through the crowd, waited accordingly, 
and then took both Penn and Meade to prison. 



264 WllUam Pcnn a in-ltoncr. 

This arrest was made knovvii next morning to 
Admiral Penn by the following letter. 

William Penn to his Father. 

"Second-day morning, 15th, 6th mo. 1670. 

" My dear Father, 

" This comes by the hand of 
one who can best allay the trouble it brings. As 
true as ever Paul said it, such as live godly in 
Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution. So, for no 
other reason, am I at present a sufferer. Yesterday 
I was taken by a band of soldiers, with one Cap- 
tain Meade, and in the evening carried before the 
Mayor ; he proceeded against me according to the 
ancient law; he told me I should have my hat 
pulled off, for all I was Admiral Penn's son. I 
told him I desired to be in common with others, 
and sought no refuge from the common usage. I 
discoursed with him about the hat ; but he avoided 
it. Because I did not readily answer him as to my 
name, William, when he asked me in order to a 
mittimus, he bid his clerk write one for Bridewell, 
and there would he see me whipped himself, for all 
I was Penn's son that starved the seamen. Indeed 
these words grieved me, and they manifested his 
great malice to the whole company, about one hun- 
dred people. I told him I could very well bear 
bis severe expressions concerning myself, but was 
sorry to hear him speak those abuses of my fa- 



William Penn a prisoner, 26^ 

ther that was not present ; at which the assembly 
seemed to murmur. In short, he committed that 
person and me as rioters ; and at present we are 
at the sign of the Black Dog in Ne^vgate market. 

"And now, dear father, be not displeased nor 
grieved. What if this be designed of the Lord for 
an exercise of our patience ? Several Indepen- 
dents were taken from Sir J. Dethick's, and Bap- 
tists elsewhere. It is the effect of commotion in 
the spirits of some, which the Lord will rebuke : 
and I doubt not that I may be at liberty in a day 
or two to see thee. I am very well, and have no 
trouble upon my spirits besides my absence from 
thee at this juncture ; otherwise I can say I was 
never better, and what they have to charge me 
with is harmless. 

" Well, eternity, which is at the door (for He 
that shall come will come, and will not tarry) — 
that shall make amends for all. The Lord God 
everlasting consolate and support thee by His holy 
power, and preserve thee to eternal rest and glory. 
Amen. 

"Thy faithful and obedient son, 

" William Penn. 

" My duty to my mother. 

" For my dear father, Sir William Penn^ 

The Captain Meade who was Penn's companion 
in prison had recently joined the Friends. He 
had been a Cromwellian officer, and at one period 



266 ' The Indlctmeitt. 

of his life, as may be inferred from the indictment, 
was a linen-draper, but his position by inheritance 
was that of an Essex country gentleman, owning 
considerable landed property in that county. He 
was afterwards married to one of the Fells of 
Swarthmoor Hall. At the time of their arrest 
Penn and Meade appear to have had little pre- 
vious acquaintance. 

They were brought to trial on the 1st of Septem- 
ber, sixteen days after their arrest. Ten justices 
were on the bench, including the Lord Mayor and 
the Recorder. The jury being impanelled, the in- 
dictment declared "that William Penn, gentleman, 
and William Meade, late of London, linen-draper, 
with divers other persons to the jury unknown, to 
the number of three hundred, the 15th day of 
August, in the twenty-second yQiXY of the King, 
about eleven of the clock in the forenoon of the 
same day, with force and arms, &c. in the parish of 
St. Bennet Gracechurch, in Bridge ward, London, 
in the street called Gracechurch-street, unlawfully 
and tumultuously did assemble and congregate 
themselves together, to the disturbance of the 
peace of the said lord the King. And the aforesaid 
William Penn and William Meade, together with 
other persons to the jury aforesaid unknovrn, then 
and there assembled and congregated together; 
the aforesaid William Penn, by agreement between 
him and William Meade before made, and by abet- 
ment of the aforesaid William Meade, then and 



The indictment. 267 

there in the open street did take upon himself to 
preach. and speak, and then and there did preach 
and speak unto the aforesaid William Meade and 
other persons there in the street aforesaid, being- 
assembled and congregated together; by reason 
whereof a great concourse and tumult of people in 
the street aforesaid then and there a long time did 
remain and continue, in contempt of the said lord 
the King and his law ; to the great disturbance of 
his peace, to the great terror and disturbance of 
manj^ of his liege people and subjects, to the ill 
example of all others in the like case offenders, and 
against the peace of the said lord the King, his 
crown and dignity." 

There were many errors in the above indictment. 
The date was incorrect ; none were armed ; none 
had used force but the soldiers ; there had been no 
agreement beforehand between the accused per- 
sons; William Meade did not speak to William 
Penn, not having been able to get near him ; there 
was no tumult but what was made by the soldiers; 
and in the evidence for the prosecution no proof 
whatever was adduced that established, or went 
to establish, those statements. William Penn had 
preached; that is, the witnesses supposed it was 
preaching, but admitted they had not heard an\'- 
thing he said. However, it had been all in the 
open street, not in any conventicle ; therefore the 
Conventicle Act did not reach the case. Notwith- 
standing all this, the bench determined it should 



268 William Penn impugm 

be adjudged "an unlawful assembly, congregated 
together to disturb the peace of the King, and 
William Penn and William Meade conspiritors 
against his Majesty's royal crown and dignity." 
Every difficulty that could be suggested to prevent 
an open full defence was raised by the presiding 
magistrates. 

When the case for the prosecution closed, Wil- 
liam Penn having at length secured silence in the 
court, came forward himself to conduct the defence. 

" Penn. — We confess ourselves to be so far from 
recanting, or declining to vindicate the assembling 
ourselves to preach, pray, or worship God, that we 
declare to all the world, that we do believe it to be 
our indispensable duty to meet incessantly upon so 
good an account; nor shall all the powers upon 
earth be able to divert us from thus reverencing 
and adoring our God who made us. 

" Sheriff Brown. — You are not here for worship- 
ping God, but for breaking the laws. 

" Penn. — I affirm I have broken no law ; nor am 
I guilty of the indictment that is laid to my charge; 
and to the end that the bench, the jury, myself, 
and those who hear us may have a more direct 
understanding of this procedure, I desire you 
would let me know by what law it is 3'ou prosecute 
me, and on what law you ground your indictment. 

" Recorder. — Upon the common law. 

" Penn. — Where is that common law ? 

" Recorder. — You must not think I am able to 



the indictment. 269 

sum up so many years and ever so many adjudged 
cases, which we call common law, to answer 3 our 
curiosity. 

" Penn. — This answer, I am sure, is very short of 
my question ; for if it be common^ it should not be 
so hard to produce. 

" Recorder. — Sir, will you plead to your indict- 
ment? 

" Penn. — Shall I plead to an indictment that hath 
no foundation in law ? If it contains that law you 
say I have broken, why should you decline to pro- 
duce that law, since it will be impossible for the 
jury to determine or agree to bring in their verdict, 
who hath not the law produced by which they 
should measure the truth of this indictment. 

" Recorder. — You are a saucy fellow ; speak to 
the indictment. 

" Penn. — I say it is my place to speak to matter 
of law. I am arraigned a prisoner. My liberty, 
which is next to life itself, is now concerned. You 
are many against me, and it is hard if I must not 
make the best of my case. I say again, unless you 
show me and the people the law you ground your 
indictment upon, I shall take it for granted your 
proceedings are merely arbitrary." 

On making this declaration, the magistrates 
unitedly set at the prisoner, and by dint of vehe- 
ment vituperation tried to bear him down. He 
replied calmly and logically, till the Recorder, to 
stop the magisterial uproar, said, addressing the 



270 William Penn impugns 

prisoner, " The question is, whether you are guilty 
of this indictment." 

" Penn. — The question is not whether I am guilty 
of this indictment, but whether this indictment be 
legal. It is too general and imperfect an answer to 
say it is common law, unless we know both where 
and what it is ; for where there is no law there is 
no transgression ; and that law which is not in being, 
so far from being common law, is no law at all. 

" Recorder. — You are an impertinent fellow. Will 
you teach the court what law is ? It is lex non 
scripta — that which many have studied thirty or 
forty years to know — and would you have me tell 
you in a moment ? 

" Perm. — Certainly, if the common law be so hard 
to be understood, it is far from being very com- 
mon ; but if the Lord Coke in his Institutes be of 
any weight, he tells us that common law is com- 
mon right, and common right is the Great Charter 
of privileges confirmed by 9 Henry III. c. 29 ; by 
25 Edward I. c. i ; and by 2 Edward HI. c. 8. 

" Recorder. — Sir, you are a very troublesome 
fellow, and it is not for the honour of the court 
to allow you to go on. 

" Penn. — I have asked but one question, and you 
have not answered me, though the rights and pri- 
vileges of every Englishman are concerned in it. 

" Recorder. — If I should snf^T you to ask ques- 
tions till to-morrow morning, you would be never 
the wiser. 



the indictment. 271 

'' Penn. — That would depend upon the answers. 

" Recorder. — Sir, we must not stand to hear you 
talk all night. 

'^Peun. — I design no affront to the court, but to 
be heard in my just plea. And I must plainly tell 
you, that if you deny me the oyer of that law 
which you suggest I have broken, you do at once 
deny me an acknowledged right, and evince to the 
whole world your resolution to sacrifice the privi- 
leges of Englishmen to your sinister and arbi- 
trary designs. 

'^ Eeco7'der. — Take him away. (To the Lord 
Maijor.) My Lord, if you take not some course 
with this pestilent fellow, to stop his mouth, we 
shall not be able to do anything to-night. 

" Lord Mayor. — Take him away 5 take him away; 
turn him into the dock. 

" Penn. — These are but so many vain exclama- 
tions. Is this justice or true judgment? Must I 
be taken away because I plead for the funda- 
mental laws of England? However (addressing 
the jfu'jj) this I leave upon your consciences ; who 
are my sole judges, that if these ancient funda- 
mental laws, which relate to liberty and propertj^, 
and are not limited to particular persuasions in 
matters of religion, must not be indispensably 
maintained, who can say he has a right to the coat 
upon his back? If not, our liberties are open to 
be invaded, our fimilies enslaved and led away 
in triumph, and our estates ruined. The Lord 



272 Tyranny of the Bencli. 

of Heaven and earth will be judge between us 
in this matter." 

The bench would listen to nothing further from 
the prisoner, but had him forcibly dragged into 
the bale-dock — a deep place, like a well, at the 
farthest extremity of the courthouse, in which he 
could neither see nor be seen. Then William Meade 
came forward to speak to the indictment, and with 
outspoken plainness told them of the falsehoods 
with which it was filled. " Therein I am accused," 
said he, " that I met vi et armis, illicit^ et tumult 
tuose. Time was when I had freedom to use a 
carnal weapon, and then I thought I feared no one ; 
but now I fear the living God, and dare not make 
use thereof to hurt any man : nor do I know that 
I demeaned myself as a tumultuous person ; for I 
am a peaceable man." Turning to the jury, the 
old soldier, now become a peace-loving Quaker, 
told them that if the Recorder would not inform 
them what constituted a riot, a rout, and an unlaw- 
ful assembly, he would quote for them the opinions 
of Lord Coke. On doing which the Recorder made 
a scornful bow, and derisively thanked him for the 
information. Meade met this by a ready retort. 
The Lord Mayor declared he deserved to have his 
tongue cut out, and the bench decided that he 
also must be removed into the bale-dock. 

The Recorder, then, in the prisoners' absence, 
delivered his charge to the jury, and they retired 
for consultation. Three hours luiviug elapsed, the 



Tlte jury hrlnfj in a verdict, 273 

jury returned agreec^ in tlieir verdict; and the pri- 
soners having been phiced at the bar, the names of 
the jurymen were called over. 

" Glerh. — Look upon the prisoners at tlie bar; 
how say you ? Is William Penn guilty of tlie 
matter whereof he stands indicted in manner and 
form, or not guilty ? 

'^Foreman, — Guilty of speaking in Gracious- 
street. 

" Court.— l^ that all ? 

" Foreman, — That is all I have in commission. 

" Recorder. — You had as good say nothing. 

'-'Lord Mayor. — Was it not an unlawful assem- 
bly ? You mean he was speaking to a tumult of 
people there ? 

" Foreman. — My Lord, this was all I had in com- 
mission." 

Uproarious was the wrath of the Lord Mayor 
and of the whole bench. They tried to intimidate, 
they threatened, they vituperated, and refused to 
accept the verdict. Finally, they ordered the jury 
to be locked up till they brought forth another. 
They returned in half an hour with a written ver- 
dict which they had all signed, only differing from 
the first by declaring William Meade Not guilty. 
The magistrates were furious against the jury, and 
refused to accept what they presented. Penn, who 
was now present, ^appealed to them to hold to 
their rights — rights which were dear to every true 
Englishman. The Recorder's dictum was in the 



274 -^^^^ jury locl-ed up. 

following words, " Gentlemen, you shall not be dis- 
missed till we have a verdict the court will accept ; 
and you shall be locked up without meat, drink, 
fire, or tobacco. We shall have a verdict by the 
help of God, or you shall starve for it." 

The jury repeatedly said, "We are all agreed," 
and declared that therefore they could come no 
nearer to the wishes of the court. 

" Recorder. — Gentlemen, you must be content 
with your hard fate; let your patience overcome 
it, for the court is resolved to have a verdict, and 
that before you can be dismissed." 

Several persons were then sworn to see that the 
jury be kept all night without meat, fire, drink, or 
any other accommodation. The court then ad- 
journed till the next morning, " Sunday, the 4th 
instant." 

Seven o'clock on Sunday morning found the 
magistrates assembled, the prisoners at the bar, and 
the court-house filled to overflowing with anxious 
spectators, when the twelve jur3^men appeared. 
Silence being proclaimed, and the jurymen's names 
called over, the clerk demanded, " Are you agreed 
upon your verdict?" 

'' Jury. — Yes. 

'' Clerh. — Who shall speak for you? 

" Jury. — Our foreman. 

" Clerh. — What say you? Look upon the prisoner 
at the bar. Is William Penn guilty of the matter 



Penn rebiilces the Bencli. 275 

whereof he stands indicted in manner and form as 
aforesaid, or not guilty ? 

" Foreman. — William Penn is guilty of speaking 
in Gracious-street. 

" Lord Mayor. — To an unlawful assembly ? 

" Edward Bitsliell. — No, my lord ; we give no 
other verdict than what we gave last night; we 
have no other verdict to give." 

Then followed another scene of vehement pres- 
sure. The jury were again ordered to retire, and 
again on their return gave in the same verdict. 

The Recorder, who regarded Edward Bushell as 
the main stay of the jury, called him a factious 
fellow, and threatened to set a mark upon him, and 
the Lord Mayor declared he would slit his nose. 

" Penn. — It is intolerable that my jury should be 
thus menaced. Is this according to fundamental 
law ? Are not they my proper judges by the Great 
Charter of England ? What hope is there of ever 
having justice done when juries are threatened and 
their verdict rejected? I am grieved to see such 
arbitrary proceedings. Did not the Lieutenant of 
the Tower pronounce one of them worse than a 
felon ? Do you not condemn for factious fellows 
those who do not answer your ends? Unhappy 
are those juries who are threatened to be fined, and 
starved, and ruined, if they give not in verdicts 
contrary to their consciences. 

" Recorder. — My Lord, you must take a course 
with that same fellow. 



276 Penn and Meade declared not guilty, 

" Lord Mayor. — Stop liis mouth : jailer, bring 
fetters, and stake him to the ground. 

" Penn. — Do your pleasure : I matter not your 
fetters. 

''Recorder. — Till now I never understood the 
policy and prudence of the Spaniards in suffering 
the Inquisition among them ; and certainly it will 
never be well with us till something of the Spanish 
Inquisition be in England." 

The jury was again forced to return to the jury- 
room, and remain there for another day and night. 
Early next morning, the court having reassembled, 
the jury entered, and the usual questions being put, 
the same verdict was tendered, and again refused. 
Folding up the paper, the foreman, after a mo- 
ment's consultation, declared he had in commission 
from the jury to return the verdict of iVb^ Ouilty. 

" Clerh. — Then hearken to your verdict. You 
say that William Penn is not guilty in manner and 
form as he stands indicted ; you say that William 
Meade is not guilty in manner and form as he 
stands indicted, and so you all say. 

'' Jury. — Yes, so we all say." 

A burst of deep sympathetic congratulation filled 
the crowded court-house during the moments of 
confounded amazement that overspread the bench, 
which the Kecorder checked by addressing the jury. 

''Recorder. — I am sorry, gentlemen, you have 
followed your own judgments and opinions, rather 
than the good and wholesome advice given you. 



and sent hach to 2\cicj(ite. 277 

God keep my life out of your hands ; but for this 
the court fines you forty marks a man, and im- 
prisonment till paid." 

At this juncture, Penn stepped forward and said, 
" I demand my liberty, being freed by the verdict 
of the jury." 

" Lord Mayor. — No, you are in for your fines. 

" Penn. — Fines for what ? 

" Lord Mayor. — For contempt of court. 

" Penn. — I ask if it be according to the funda- 
mental laws of England that any Englishman 
should be fined or amerced but by the judgment 
of his peers or jury ? Since it expressly contradicts 
the 14th and 29th chapters of the Great Charter of 
England, which says, ' No freeman ought to be 
amerced but by the oath of good and lawful men 
of the vicinage.' 

" Recorder. — Take him away, take him away out 
of the court." 

They then hurried the prisoners to the bale-dock, 
and from thence sent them to Newgate, for the 
non-payment of the imposed fines, and after them 
were sent the twelve jurymen, in consequence of 
refusing to pay the fines laid on them for not 
bringing in a verdict that pleased the bench. 

As soon as the prisoners were back again in their 
Newgate quarters, William Penn lost no time in 
writing as follows, to relieve the suspense at Wan- 
stead : 



278 William Penns Letters. 

William Penn to his fatJier. 

"5th ofFth month, 1670. 

" Dear Father, 

" Because I cannot come, I write. These are 
to let thee know that this morning about seven we 
were remanded to the sessions. The jury, after tw^o 
nights and two days being locked up, came dowai 
and offered their former verdict ; but that being re- 
fused as not positive, they explained themselves 
[by pronouncing the prisoners] Not guilty. Upon 
this the bench were amazed, and the whole court so 
satisfied that they made a kind of hymn. But that 
the Mayor, Eecorder, and Eobinson might add to 
their malice, they fined us for not pulling off our 
hats, and have kept us prisoners for the money — 
^n injurious trifle, which will blow over, as we shall 
bring it to the Common Pleas, because it w^as 
against law, and not sessed by a jury. 

"'' How great a dissatisfaction their actions have 
begot may reasonably be conjectured by the bare 
mention of them. 1st. — That the jury w^as about 
six times rejected in their verdict ; and, besides ille- 
gal menaces, were kept two days and two nights 
W'ithout bed, tobacco, provisions, &c. 2nd. — That 
a session should be held on the first day of the 
•week. 3rd. — That the jury, the only judges by- 
law, should be fined forty marks each [for the ver- 
dict they brought in,] and to be prisoners till they 
have paid it. However, their verdict for us is ac- 



to 1i!H Father. 279 

cepted, because they (the magistrates) dare not 
deny it. 

" This is the substance. The particuhir circum- 
stances I shall personally relate, if the Lord will. 
I am more concerned at thy distemper and the 
pains that attend it, than at my own mere im- 
prisonment, which works for the best. 

" I am, dear father, 
" Thy obedient son, 

" William Penn." 

Robinson, named in this letter, was, next to the 
Recorder and the Lord Mayor, the most active of 
the presiding magistrates. He was the infamous 
Sir John Robinson, Lieutenant of the Tower, whose 
cruelty and avarice are so strongly stigmatized by 
Lucy Hutchinson in connection with Colonel Hutch- 
inson's imprisonment, and that of the others who 
were implicated in the trial of Charles the First. 

Day by day William heard of his father, and 
wrote to him. The next letter was as follows : — 



WlUiani Penn to his father, Aclmiral Penn. 

"Newgate, 6th, Ttli mo. 1670. 

" Dear Father, 

" I desire thee not to be troubled 
at my present confinement ; I could scarce suffer 
on a better account, nor by a worse hand, and the 
will of God be done. It is more grievous and un- 



2 So Will id in Icniis letters 

easy to me that thou should be so heavily exer- 
cised, God Almighty knows, than any worldly con- 
cernment. I am cleared by the jury, and they are 
here in my place, and resolved to lie till they get 
out by law. Every six hours they demand their 
freedom, by advice of counsel. 

" They (the court) have so overshot themselves, 
that the generality of people much detest them. I 
entreat thee not to purchase my libert}^ They 
will repent them of their proceedings. I am now 
a prisoner notoriously against law. I desire in fer- 
vent prayer the Lord God to strengthen and sup- 
port thee, and to anchor thy mind in thoughts of 
the immutable blessed state which is over all per- 
ishing concerns. 

" I am, dear father, 

" Thy obedient son, 

"William Penn." 

Another day arrived, and again the imprisoned 
son wrote to Wanstead : — 

William Penn to his father, Admiral Penn. 

" Xev,-g:ite. Tth September, 1670. 

" Dear Father, 

" I am truly gricn^ed to liear of 

thy present illness. 

"If God in Ills holy will did see meet tliat I 

should be freed, I could hcartih' cm]:)race it ; yet, 



To his Father. dSi 

considering I cannot be free but upon such terms 
as strengthen their arbitrary and base proceedings, 
I rather choose to suffer any hardship, and I am 
persuaded some clearer way will suddenly be found 
to obtain my liberty ; which is no vray so desirable 
to me as on the account of being with thee. 

"I am not without hope that the Lord will 
sanctify the endeavours of thy phj-sician unto a 
cure, and then much of my solicitude will be at 
an end. My present restraint is so far from being 
humour, that I Avould rather perish than release 
myself by an indirect course, or to satiate their re- 
vengeful, avaricious appetites. The advantage of 
such freedom would Ml very short of the trouble 
of accepting it. Solace thy mind in the thoughts 
qf better things, dear father. Let not this wicked 
world disturb thy mind, and whatever shall come 
to pass, I hope in all conditions to approve myself 
thy obedient son, 

^^' William Penn." 

The foregoing details of that extraordinary trial, 
taken in connection with these affectionate letters 
of the son to his father, place before us materials 
from which the tone, temper, courage, charact^'r, 
and feelings of William Penn may be clearly com- 
prehended by tlic reader who chooses to study 
them. The}^ will be found to stand the highest 
test of what is truly just, noble, dauntless, patri- 
otic, and Christian. 



232 TJiC rlylds of jarlcs. 

The (ILsposal of the case of fines on the jury for 
their verdict is detailed by Mr. Dixon, in his Life 
of William Perm, as follows. 

" Up to this period the usage of the courts with 
regard to verdicts had never been reduced to a 
legal and positive form. From the daj^s of the 
Tudors it had been the occasional practice of the 
bench to inflict fines on contumacious and incon- 
venient juries ; for centuries it had practically re- 
mained an unsettled question of law, whether the 
jury had or had not a right so far to exercise its 
own discretion as to bring in a verdict contrary to 
the sense of the court. This great point was now 
to be decided. Bushell and his fellow jurors, at 
Penn's suggestion, brought an action against Sir 
Samuel Starling, and Sir John Howell, the Lord 
Mayor, and the Recorder of London, for unjust 
imprisonment. On the 5th of September they 
wxre committed to Newgate, counsel was engaged, 
and application immediately made to the Court of 
Common Pleas ; but it was not until the 9th of 
November that a writ of Habeas Corpus was issued 
to the governor of the jail, to bring up the person 
of Edward Bushell. Newdegate, Size, Waller, and 
Broome appeared as counsel for the prisoners ; 
Scroggs and Maynard for the King ; that is, for 
Starling and Howell, the King's justices. Free- 
man has preserved the heads of this famous appeah 
'' The defence was taken on the ground that the 
jury had brought in a verdict contrary to the laws 



TIlg riijlits of juries. 283 

of England, to manifest evidence, and to the di- 
rection of the court. Newdegate urged against 
♦this defence, that so far as the laws of England 
were concerned, the defence was bad, inasmuch as 
the question of law cannot occur until the facts are 
proved. Here the facts were not proved to the sat- 
isfaction of the men who were called upon by the 
constitution to investigate them ; consequently, the 
laws not being invoked, they could not be violated. 
The second point of the defence Broome met by 
showing that it is the special function of the jury 
to judge of the evidence submitted to it, and that 
in the eye of the law^ that body is presumed to be 
a more competent judge of whether evidence is 
good or bad than the court. This argument also 
met the last point of the defence ; the bench might 
be deceived in its opinion; the jury, being agreed 
amongst themselves, are presumed to be infallible. 
The bench therefore, though at liberty to ofter sug- 
gestions to the jurymen for their consideration, 
may not lawfully coerce them. 

"The Court of Common Pleas adopted these 
views. Sir John Vaughan summed up the argu- 
ment on both sides, and gave a learned exposition 
of the question as a piece of historical hiw, ending 
with a verdict for Edward Bushell on behalf of 
himself and his fellow prisoners. They were con- 
sequently ordered to be set at liberty in open court. 
Ten of the other eleven judges agreed in the ver- 
dict given by Sir John Vaughan. Chief Baron 



284 Admiral Perms dying advice 

Turner merely abstained from giving an opinion 
on the point, as he had not been present in court 
to hear the argument of counsel. The verdict may 
therefore be considered as the unanimous expres- 
sion of the twelve judges." 

Thus the course adopted by the Lord Mayor and 
Recorder being condemned by the Court of Com- 
mon Pleas, Bushell and his fellows left Newgate 
victorious. The fines imposed upon Penn and 
Meade appear to have been paid by some unknown 
friend the same day on which the last letter was 
written by Penn to his father. 

All hopes of the recovery of the admiral soon 
passed from his son's mind after his return to Wan- 
stead. The account of his dying father's advice to 
him, which he inserted in a subsequent edition of 
his No Gross^ No Croivn, is as follows : — 

"^ Son William, I am w^eary of the world ! I 
would not live over my days again if I could com- 
mand it with a Avish, for the snares of life appear 
greater than the fear of death. 

^' It troubles me that I have offended a gracious 
God. The thought of that has followed me to this 
day. Oh ! have a care of sin ! It is that which is 
the sting both of life and death. 

'- Three things I commend to you. 

'' First ^ let nothing in this world tempt you to 
wi'ong }'our conscience : so you will Ivcep })^ace at 
home, which will be a feast to you in the day of 
trouble. 



to Jns son William. 285 

" Second! ij. — Whatever you design to do, lay it 
justly, and time it seasonablj^ 

'^Lastly. — Be not troubled at disappointments, 
for if tliej^ may be recovered, do it ; if they cannot, 
trouble is vain. If you could not have helped it, 
be content ; there is often peace and profit in sub- 
mitting to Providence, for afflictions make wise. 
If you could have helped it, let not your trouble 
exceed instruction for another time. 

" These rules will carry you with firmness and 
comfort through this inconstant world." 

At another time he inveighed against the pro- 
faneness and impiety of the age, and expressed his 
apprehension that divine judgments would fall upon 
England, on account of the wickedness of her 
nobility and gentry. Just before he died, looking 
with compassion at his son, he said, " Son William, 
if you and your Friends keep to your plain way. of 
preaching, and to your plain way of living, you 
will make an end of the priests to the end of the 
world." He afterwards added : " Bury me by my 
mother. Live in love. Shun all manner of evil, 
and I pray God to bless you all ; and He will bless 
you." 

Thus having spoken, the spirit of this brave sea- 
man left its earthly tenement. 

His desire to be buried near his mother was 
carried out, and there, in the parish church of 
Redcliff in the city of Bristol, where his remains 
were laid, a monument was erected to his memory 
with the following inscription : — 



286 Adnnj'aJ Ponis epitaplt. 

To the just memory of 

SIR WILLIAM PENN, 

Knight and sometimes General, 

born at Bristol, Anno 1G21, 

Son of Captain Giles Penn, several years Consul for the English in 

the Mediterranean, of the Penns of Penlodge in the County 

of Wilts, and those Penns of Penn in the 

County of Bucks ; 

and by his Mother from the Gilberts in the County of Somerset, 

originally from Yorkshire. 

Addicted from his youth to maritime affairs, 

he was made Captain at the years of 21, 

Rear-Admiral of Ireland at 23, 

Vice-Admiral of Ireland at 25, 

Admiral of the Straights at 29, 

Vice-Admiral of England at 31, 

and General in the first Dutch War at 32 ; 

whence returning, in Anno 1655, he was chosen 

a Parliament-man for Weymouth ; 

1660 made Commissioner of the Admiralty and Navy, 

Governor of the Town -and Port of Kinsale, 

Vice-Admiral of MunBter, and a Member of the 

Provincial Council ; 

And in Anno 1G65 was chosen Great Captain Commander 

under his Royal Highness, in that 

signal and most successful Fight against the Dutch Fleet. 

Then he took leave of the sea, his old element, 

but continued still his other employs 

till 1069, at which time, through bodily infirmities 

■ contracted by the care and fatigue of public affairs, 

he withdrew, prepared and made for his end ; 

and with a gentle and even gale, in much peace, 

arrived and anchored in his last and best Port, 

at Wanstead, in the County of Essex, 

the 16th of September, 1676, 

being then but 49 years and 4 months old. 

To his Name and Memory 
his surviving Lady hath erected this remembrance. 



Pen II visits BachJiujliamslilre. 287 

Admiral Penn, baviiig provided for liis wife, his 
son Eichard (who survived him only three years) 
and his only daughter, Margaret Lowther, ap- 
pointed William his executor and residuary lega- 
tee, a bequest which entitled him to estates in 
England and Ireland w^oi'th about £1500 a year, 
and to his fixther's claims on government for money 
lent to the state and arrears of salary amounting to 
nearly £15,000. And further, having anticipated 
that William would have much to endure from the 
intolerant spirit of the age, he had shortly before 
his death sent a message to the Duke of York, with 
his dying request that h'e w^ould endeavour to pro- 
tect him and would use his influence with the King 
to secure his protection also. The Duke gave his 
solemn promise to do so, and seems never to have 
forgotten it. 

When his father's funeral was duly solemnized, 
and the immediate claims wdiich devolved upon 
him as executor were settled, William Penn visit- 
ed Buckinghamshire. Part of the family property 
lay there, and another treasure, far more precious 
to him, was also in that county. Of his visits to 
Gulielma Maria Springe tt, or to his other Amer- 
sham friends, during his sojourn in their neighbour- 
hood on this occasion, neither letter nor narrative 
remains to tell us. We have abundant details, 
however, of a public controversy wdiic^h he held at 
West Wycombe with a Baptist minister and his 
supporters; but into this or his numerous other 



•2 88 Pemi\^ coitrovcrsial lahoitrs. 

discussions yv'itli disputants w]io assailed his reli- 
gious tenets I have no thought of following him. 
The activity and compass of William Penn's mind 
were something w^onderful, and it did a w^onderful 
work in that da}-, when religious controversy was a 
necessity to a society whose principles were vehe- 
mently assailed on all sides. 

This young champion of the Quaker faith seemed 
raised up by the Lord to continue the warfare, 
when others had been cut off by the pestilence and 
privations to which they had been consigned by 
their persecutors. He, recognizing the call of his 
Divine Master, and His guiding care in the posi- 
tion which thus devolved on him, embraced it 
cordially. He dwelt on his dying father's thoughts 
and advice with feelings overhowing with thankful- 
ness to God. So changed were they from those of 
earlier days, so Christian-like v\^ere they, and so en- 
couraging to him to pursue with unwavering course 
the religious path he had entered, that they now sti- 
mulated his zeal. Yes ! pursue that path he must, 
' with God's help, let come what would ; nothing but 
physical inability should deter him from upholding 
the Truth as promulgated by the Lord Jesus, and 
now maintained in its integrity by the Friends. 
He preached, he wrote, he disputed, whenever 
calumny and opposition to the Truth presented 
themselves, whether from Episcopalian, Presby- 
terian, Independent, or Baptist. With reference 
to this period of his career, he has been aptly 



Penns controversial labours, 289 

termed " The sword of the new sect, kept perpet- 
ually unsheathed to meet its enemies in battle." 

Moses Amyrault, who has been before alluded to 
as William Penn's French preceptor at Saumur, 
with whom he had read the ancient Fathers, and 
studied early Church history, belonged to the Cal- 
vinistic section of Protestants. He had written 
many works on theology, several of which were 
read throughout Protestant Europe. His inquiring 
English pupil must, under such a master, have 
gone into all the reasoning and systematizing of 
the dogmatic theology of that day. It is clear that 
he fully understood the peculiar doctrines of the 
Calvinistic system, and the authorities to which 
it owed its origin and progress in the Christian 
church. Having seen, as he believed, much evil 
resulting from its adoption, William Penn earnestly 
withstood it, and he was all the better prepared by 
tlie training he had had under Amyrault, to meet 
the arguments of those who canie forward in its 
defence. 

19 



CHAPTER X. 

1672-1679. 

Sir John Robinson again imprisons William Penn. — Sends him to 
Newgate. — State of that prison. — Penn's prison occupation. — Release. 
—Visits the Continent. — His marriage. — Settles at Ruscombe. — Visit 
of the Swarthmoor family. — Imprisonment of George Fox. — William 
Penn writes to his friend in prison. — Controversy between Penn and 
Baxter. — -Penn as a controversialist. — As an arbitrator. — Quaker 
trusteeship in connection with New Jersey. — Purchase of land from 
the Indians. — Government of New Jersey. — The Penns settle at 
Worminghurst. — Family concerns. — Another Continental visit. — • 
Penn's speeches before the Parliamentary Committee. — His address to 
Protestants. 

Some of the magistrates who had been thwarted- 
in their purpose respecting the two Quaker prison- 
ers, and who were also smarting under the defeat 
.^ experienced in the suit of the jury against them, 
were determined on revenge, and could not rest till 
they again tried some plan by which Penn, the 
chief aggressor, might be brought within their 
power. Of these. Sir John Robinson, Lieutenant 
of the Tower, was the leader. Cruel and unscru- 
pulous, he was cunning as well as cruel; and to 
effect his purpose on this occasion, he set spies to 
watch Penn's movements after his return from 
290 



WiUlam Penn cifjain imprisoned. 291 

Buckinghamshire, in order to discover some pretext 
on which to apprehend him. 

Daring the interim Penn had prepared a detailed 
account of his trial, in which he pointed out what 
was contrary to constitutional law and to the an- 
cient charters in the late proceedings. This he 
published under the title of The Peoples Ancient 
and Just Liberties Asserted. The whole affair 
and the subsequent publication inanifested so much 
legal ability and undaunted determination on the 
part of the writer, that the more cautious among 
the magistrates who had sat on the bench did not 
wish to interfere with him again. However, Sir 
John, Avho was a nephew of ArchbishojD Laud, and 
son to the Archdeacon of Nottingham, having vin- 
dictive feelings towards dissenters, and seeing that 
he could get Penn into his power by tendering the 
oath of allegiance in case of other failures, was de- 
termined to persevere in searching for an occasion. 
Having discovered that on a certain morning he 
intended to be at the Friends' meeting at Wheeler- 
street, a constable and guard of soldiers were sta- 
tioned outside after the meeting assembled, till 
William Penn stood up to preach. The sergeant 
and constable then entered, and pulling him down, 
handed him over to the military guard, ^vho con- 
ducted him forthwith to the Tower. He was kept 
there till evening, when Sir John Robinson, with 
the Lord Mayor, Sir Samuel Stirling, Sir John 
Sheldon, and some who were not on the bench on the 



292 Penn and Sir Joint Rohinson, 

previous occasion, arrived. Robinson took care this 
time that the trial should be of such a character as 
not to require a jury in order to obtain a conviction. 
The examination was conducted by himself, the 
public being excluded. 

" Sir John Rohinson. — What is this person's 
name ? 

" Consfahle. — Mr. Penn, sir. 

" Rohinson. — Is your name Penn ? 

" Peynn. — Dost thou not know me ? 

'^Rohinson. — I don't know you. I don't desire to 
know such as you. 

''Penn. — If not, why didst thou send for me 
hither? 

"Rohinson. — Is that your name, sir? 

"Penn. — Yes, yes, my name is Penn. I am not 
ashamed of my name. 

" Rohinson. — Constable, where did you find him? 

" ConstaUe. — At Wheeler-street, at a meeting, 
speaking to the people. 

" Rohinson. — You mean he was speaking to an 
unlawful assembly. 

" Constahle. — I do not know indeed, sir; he was 
there, and he was speaking. 

" Rohinson. — Give them their oaths. 

"Penn. — Hold ; do not swear the man. I freely 
acknowledge I was at Wheeler-street, and that I 
spoke to an assembly of people there. 

" Rohinson. — No matter ; give them the oaths. 
Mr. Penn, you know the law better than I can 



Penn and Sir John Rohinson. 293 

tell you, and you know these things are contrary to 
law. 

'^ Penn. — If thou believest me to be better known 
in the law than thyself, hear me, for I know no 
law I have transgressed. Laws are to be construed 
strictly and literally, or more explanatorily and 
lenitively. In the first sense, the execution of 
many laws may be extrema injuria, the greatest 
wrong; in the latter way applied, wisdom and 
moderation. I would have thee choose the latter. 
Now, whereas I am probably to be tried by the 
late act against conventicles, I conceive it doth not 
reach me. 

''Rohinson. — No, sir, I shall not proceed upon 
that law. 

''Penn. — What then? I am sure that law was 
intended for a standard on these occasions. 

" Rohinson. — The Oxford Act of six months. 

" Penn. — That of all acts cannot concern me. I 
was never in orders, neither episcopally nor classi- 
cally, and one of them is intended by the preamble 
of that act. 

"Rohinson. — No, no, any that speak in unlawful 
assemblies, and you spoke in an unlawful assembly." 

William Penn proved to him the entire illegality 
of applying the provisions of that act to him. 
Baffled in his design of making the Oxford Act 
serve his purpose, Sir John had recourse to the old 
snare — tendering the oath of allegiance to a man 
who he knew nothing on earth would induce to 



294 Penn and jSir JoJin Rohinson. 

swear, because he regarded all swearing as forbid- 
den by Christ ; and one who he knew would rather 
die than take up arms against the King or govern- 
ment. Penn showed him the injustice, the inap- 
plicability, and the total perversion of the design 
for which the oath of allegiance was prepared, to 
tender it to a man whose allegiance was not and 
could not be doubted. 

The Lieutenant of the Tower, driven from point 
to point, at length said, " You do nothing but stir 
up the people to sedition ; and there was one of 
your friends told me you preached sedition, and 
meddled with the government. 

" Penn. — We (Friends) have the unhappiness to 
be misrepresented. But bring me the man that will 
dare to justify this accusation to my face, and if I 
am not able to make it appear that it is both my 
practice and that of all the Friends to instil prin- 
ciples of peace on all occasions, (and war only 
against spiritual wickedness, that all men may be 
brought to fear God and work righteousness,) I 
shall contentedly undergo the severest punishment 
your laws can expose me to. As for the King, I 
make this offer, if any one living can make appear 
directly or indirectly, from the time I have been 
called a Quaker, (since it is from thence you date 
my sedition,) I have contrived or acted anything 
injurious to his person, or to the English govern- 
ment, I shall submit my person to your utmost 



Penn and Sir John Robinson. 295 

cruelties. But it is hard that, being innocent, I 
should be reputed guilty. 

" Rohinson. — Well, I must send you to Newgate 
for six months ; and when they are expired, you 
will come out. 

" Penn. — Thou well knowest a larger imprison- 
ment has not daunted me. Alas, you mistake your 
interests, and you will miss your aim. This is not 
the way to compass your ends. 

" Rohinson. — You bring yourself into trouble, 
heading parties and drawing people after you. 

" Penn. — I would have thee and all men know I 
scorn that religion which is not worth suffering for, 
and which is not able to sustain those who are 
afflicted for it. Mine is ; and whatever be my lot, I 
am resigned to the will of God. Thy religion per- 
secutes, mine forgives, and I desire that God may 
forgive you all that are concerned in my commit- 
ment. I leave you, wishing you everlasting salva- 
tion. 

'' Rohinson. — Send a corporal with a file of mus- 
queteers with him. 

" Penn. — No, no. Send thy lacquey ; I know the 
way to Newgate." 

As Sir John had not been able to get up any 
thing against him, that could bring into his own 
keeping in the Tower this " gentleman with a plen- 
tiful estate," as he termed him, from whom no doubt 
he had hoped to obtain extortions, he forthwith 



1q6 Penns wj'ltu/r/s- in Ncirgate. 

consigned liim to Newgate. This was the second 
time within three months that he had been cast 
into that miserable prison, the state of which, and 
its bad management in that age, have already been 
exhibited through Thomas EUwood's graphic detail. 
And from William Penn himself we know it w^as 
then much as it had been when Ellwood w^as one of 
its occupants. It is wonderful how, in such an 
abode, Penn was able to command the power of 
concentration indispensable for the composition of 
the works which he w^rote there, and which from 
thence were scattered broadcast over England, Scot- 
land, Ireland and America. It was then he a\ rote 
The Great Case of Liherty of Conscience; Truth 
Rescued from Imposture; A Postscidpt to Truth 
Exalted; and An Apology for the Quakers. The 
first and most considerable of these works, that 
On Liberty of Conscience^ displays an enlarged 
charity, great research, and grasp of mind. Besides 
these, he wrote letters to a Roman Catholic who 
had taken offence at his Caveat against Popery, 
which was published before his imprisonment. He 
also wrote a dignified and temperate letter to the 
High Court of Parliament, explaining Quaker 
principles, and showing how unnecessarily and yet 
how severely their act against conventicles pressed 
on this loyal and peace-loving people. And he ad- 
dressed a letter to the sherifis of London on the 
state of Newgate prison, and the abuses practised 
by the jailors on such as either could not, or from 



He visits the Continent. 297 

scruples of conscience would not^ purchase their 
favours. He and his friends had declined to do so 
on the latter ground. On looking at the great 
amount of important work accomplished during 
these six months, we may well rejoice in the con- 
sciousness of how our Heavenly Father can bring 
good results to His own cause out of the evil 
devices of wicked men. So it was then, and so it 
is now. 

As soon as he was again clear of Newgate, and 
had paid a visit to his mother at Wanstead, 
William Penn lost no time till he saw his beloved 
Guli. But not even on this occasion did he tarry 
long in Buckinghamshire, believing it to be his 
duty to pay a missionary visit in gospel love to 
some Christian churches on the continent of Eu- 
rope, he started for Holland, and visited those 
Dutch towns where, through the instrumentality 
of William Caton and others, the Friends' prin- 
ciples had made some way. He thence proceeded 
to Hanover, and in the free city of Emden he was 
the first who succeeded in obtaining an entrance for 
Quaker principles. A meeting was ultimately es- 
tablished there, which ever afterwards looked to 
William Penn as its founder. He afterwards visited 
other parts of Germany, made the acquaintance of 
Princess Elizabeth of the Rhine, and obtained some 
knowledge of her friends, the disciples of the f i- 
rnous De Labadie, originally a Jesuit, but then a 
Protestant of the strictest type. 



apS WiUiain Pcidi's marriage. 

As no family documents are forthcoming relative 
to the period which intervened between his return 
from the continent and the close of the year suc- 
ceeding his settlement at Rickmansworth, I shall 
extract the bright picture given by his biographer 
William Hepworth Dixon : — 

" After so long a separation, Penn was, not un- 
reasonably, anxious to be near Guli Springett once, 
again. Calling to see his mother at Wanstead on 
his way to London, he made a short stay in the 
capital, visiting old friends, and reporting the 
results of his journey, and then posting down to 
Bucks, where he was received with open arms — by 
Miss Springett as her affianced husband, and by 
Ellwood and the Peningtons as the champion of 
their faith. In their society he seems to have 
passed a considerable time, dallying with the bliss- 
ful days of courtship, and slowly making prepara- 
tions for his marriage. He took a house in the first 
instance at Rickmansworth, al^out six miles from 
Chalfont, which being made ready for Guli's recep- 
tion, the marriage rites were performed in the early 
spring of 1672, six or seven months after his lib- 
eration from Newgate, and husband and wife at 
once took up their residence in their new dwelling. 

'- Their honey-moon lasted long ; the spring and 
summer came and went, but Penn still remained 
with his young and lovely wife at Rickmans- 
worth; neither the flatteries of friends nor the at- 
tacks of foes could draw him away from his charming 



and lioney-moon. 299 

seclusion. During these summer months he neither 
wrote nor travelled ; that very instinct of activity, 
and that restless and aggressive spirit, which were 
the sources of nearly all his usefulness, were, so to 
say, touched with the wand of the enchantress, and 
laid to rest. Since his expulsion from his father's 
house he had never known such repose of mind 
and body. Seeing him surrounded by all that 
makes domestic happiness complete — a charming 
home, a beautiful and loving wife, a plentiful estate, 
the prospect of a family, and a troop of attached 
and admiring friends, — those who knew him only 
at second hand imagined that the apostle of civil 
and religious liberty was now about to subside into 
the quiet country gentleman, more interested in 
cultivating his paternal acres, than with the pro- 
gress of an unpopular doctrine and the general 
enlightenment of mankind. But those who rea- 
soned so, knew little of William Penn, and perhaps 
still less of the lady who had now become his wife. 
Guli would herself have scorned the man who, 
through infirmity of purpose, could have allowed 
himself to sink into the mere sloth of the affec- 
tions, and who, by his outward showing to the 
world, would have represented her alliance as 
bringing weakness to his character instead of 
strength. Penn was not that man. His interval 
of rest over, the preacher again resumed his work." 
In the summer of 1673 they both went to Bristol, 
to meet George Fox and other Friends, who had 



joo George Fox and Thomas Lotoer. 

just returned from a missionary visit to the West 
Indies and America. The family from Swarthmoor 
Hall were also there to receive them, and welcome 
their return. Before the autumn of that year 
closed, George Fox and his wife, with their son 
and daughter Thomas and Mary Lower, paid a 
visit to Kickmansworth, and from thence they pro- 
ceeded into Worcestershire, holding meetings among 
the Friends as they moved along. To some of those 
meetings many others not Quakers came, and the 
clergy of the established Church, finding their con- 
gregations lessening, and ascertaining the cause, 
had Fox and Lower made prisoners, and sent to 
Worcester jail, because, as the mittimus expressed 
it, " They held meetings, upon the pretence of the 
exercise of religion, otherwise than is established 
by the laws of England." 

Thomas Lower, who was brother to the Court 
physician Dr. Richard Lower, through interest 
made by his brother, was released, although he 
expostulated, and argued against being liberated, 
whilst, as he said, his father, whom he had accom- 
panied throughout, taking a part in all his proceed- 
ings, w^as to be imprisoned. But it was all in vain. 
Fox was to be punished and Lower released on 
other grounds than those of justice. Meantime 
William Penn used all his skill and influence in aid 
of his imprisoned friend. He got his mother. Lady 
Penn, to write to Lord Windsor, who was lord- 
lieutenant of the county, and with whom she was 



imprisoned iii Worcester. ' 301 

intimately acquainted, entreating him to exert his 
influence not to allow the oath of allegiance to be 
tendered at the sessions to George Fox, which it 
was feared might be done in order to ensnare him, 
in case the other accusation ^vas likely to be passed 
over. Lady Penn's letter was unavailing, and was 
perhaps forgotten by Lord Windsor, amid other 
interests which were crowding around him. Be that 
as it may, they did tender the oath, and then sent 
Fox back to prison, to be brought up on the next 
occasion as a disloyal subject, and, when condemn- 
ed on the law of premunire, to be imprisoned for 
life and deprived of all his property. 

As there w^ere errors in the indictment, and va- 
rious exceptions were taken by those engaged to 
defend the prisoner, this case was repeatedly argued 
both at Worcester and in London, before the sen- 
tence of premunire could be established against 
him. But at length it appeared to be confirmed. 
Margaret Fox then repaired to London, and waited 
on the King. Her husband says, " She laid before 
him my long and unjust imprisonment, and the 
justices' proceedings in tendering me the oath as a 
snare, w^hereby they had premunired me; so that T, 
being now his prisoner, it was in his power and at 
his pleasure to release me. The King spoke kindly 
to her, and referred her to the Lord-Keeper, to 
whom she went, but could not get what she desired; 
for he said the King could not release me but by a 
pardon, and I was not free to receive a pardon, 



302 ' Letter from William Pemi. 

knowing I had not done evil. I had rather have 
hiin in prison all my days than have come out 
in any way dishonourable to Truth. Therefore I 
chose rather to have the validity of my indictment 
now tried before the judges of King's Bench." 
Thus the matter stood when the following letter 
was written. 

William Penn to George Fox. 

London, 1st lOtb mo. 1G74. 

" Dear G. F. 

" My fervent, upright love salutes thee. 
Thine per post and E. M. I have. For thy busi- 
ness it becomes me not to say [how much] I have 
endeavoured ; but surely I have with much dili- 
gence attempted to get all done as I could desire ; 
and I am yet resolved to make one push more 
about it ; so that I cannot write a positive and con- 
clusive account till next Seventh or Second day, by 
which time I hope to have an answer from this 
great man. His uncle died, and left him £3,000 
per annum, and just married, which did divert the 
matter. 

'* I wrote concerning the writ of error that it 
must be received in open sessions, and the record 
of the judgment certified by the clerk up to judges 
of the King's Bench ; and if then it appear that 
there is error to bear an Habeas Corpus, thou shalt 
liave one. I have ever thought that was done in 
kindness. The King knows not that thou refused 



to George Fox. 303 

a pardon, only that we chose rather a more suitable 
way to thy innocency. I am, and shall stay in 
town to do my utmost. The Lord God knows that 
I could come in thy place to release thee : but the 
Lord's will be done. 

" Dear George, things are pretty quiet, and meet- 
ings very full, and precious, and living, blessed be 
the Lord forever. 

^' J. Faldo's book twice answered by me is re- 
printed, or some think it is the remainder unsold 
bound up with an epistle in favour of it, subscribed 
by twenty-one priests, as Manton, Baxter, Bates, 
&c., but it shall be their burden. They will repent 
them when they know what they have done. As 
for the sufferings, I have spoken to G. W. &c. 
They say that there is not stock for such a work ; 
that they have neither press nor materials for such 
a considerable work, and that £1500 will scarcely 
do it. 

"My wife is well, and child; only teeth, she has 
one cut. 

" The name of the everlasting Lord God be 
blessed and praised for His goodness and mercy, 
saith my soul. He is our blessed Rock ; the life 
and joy of our days ; the blessed portion of them 
that believe and ol^ey. My unchangeable love 
flows to thee, dear George, and in it I salute thee, 
thy dear wife, T. L., and S. F. 

" I am thy true and respectful friend, 

"William Penn." 



304 Fox released from prison. 

The foregoing letter is addressed thus : — 

" To Edward Barne, 
" Physician in 

" Worcester.* 
"G. F," 

It was upwards of two months after the date of 
the foregoing letter that the case was opened in the 
Court of King's Bench before Sir Matthew Hale, 
Lord Chief Justice of England, and three other 
judges, by whose decision George Fox was released 
by proclamation. He says : — " Thus, after I had 
suffered imprisonment for a year and almost two 
months for nothing, I was fairly set at liberty upon 
a trial of the errors of my indictment, without re- 
ceiving any pardon, or coming under any engage- 
ment at all." 

In the above letter where William Penn tells his 
friend of his child being well, "only teeth, she has 
one cut," we are in a very simple but certain way 
furnished with a flict not before known to those 
who hilrve written about William and Guli Penn's 
children, viz., that Sj^ringett Penn was not, as is 
generally stated, their first child. It is evident that 
the baby who, in Tenth-month, 1674, had cut her 
first tooth, came before him, for Springett was not 
born till 1675. The fact is that this baby daughter 
was Margaret, who was so named for her grand- 

* From the original in the possession of Silvanus Thompson, York. 



ReJ'Kjlous controvermj. ^05 

inother, Laclj Penn. She was their third child; 
the two elder ones, Gulielma Maria and William, 
died before the date of that letter — the little girl 
only a few weeks after her birth, and William when 
about a year old. 

It does not appear what was the nature of the 
controversy alluded to in the letter to Fox, in 
which Faldos and Penn were engaged. The re- 
mark which follows, that Richard Baxter was one 
among other ^priests who had taken part with Fal- 
dos, and that they would repent it when they knew 
what they had done, gives no clue to the cir- 
cumstance, though it leads us to infer that Wil- 
liam Penn thought they sided with his antagonist 
through some misapprehension of the case. 

In that controversial age, two such earnest men 
as Baxter and Penn could hardly come near toge- 
ther without some collision. A private discussion 
of their differences did not satisfy the Presbyterian 
champion. Therefore, when passing through Rick- 
mansworth, he demanded a public opportunity of 
proving the errors of Quakerism. Penn was not 
slow in accepting the challenge, or in doing his 
utmost to provide accommodation for those who 
collected from all the surrounding country to 
witness the discussion. The controvers}^ lasted for 
seven hours, from ten in the morning till five in the 
afternoon, and when it terminated each party was 
so well satisfied with the arguments of its repre- 
sentative, that both sides claimed the victory ! 



3o6 Penn called to a neio sphere. 

Such occurrences are among the peculiar features 
which marked the religious world in that age. The 
spirit of controversy was I'ife in all the sects, and 
the Quakers were among the most earnest and 
persevering of them all. 

Into the religious disputations which drew forth 
the active powers of William Penn in vindicating 
the principles of " The Friends of Truth," I cannot 
think of entering ; indeed I apprehend they would 
be tiresome to the reader as well as to the writer 
in these days, when our enjoyment of, and need 
for, such keen controversy has subsided. But then 
it was a necessity resulting from the spirit of the 
times; and as Penn in those days never shrank 
from a defence of the Truth when an enemy gave 
battle, he was seldom out of controversial harness. 

But now a great absorbing interest took hold of 
his mind. This was to procure an asylum for 
Friends, and others who might choose to join them, 
in the New World, where perfect liberty of con- 
science, and just administration of laws founded 
on and regulated by christian morals, should pre- 
vail. But in order to have power to legislate for 
the internal government of a colony, possession, 
differing materially from that of ordinary settlers, 
must be obtained. Land-ownership might exist 
without any legislative power. In process of time, 
however, a providential hand placed all the requi- 
site conditions within the reach of Penn and his 
co-religionists. 



Government of Neiv Jersey. 307 

In tliG jear 1675 the ownership of one half the 
tract of country called New Jersey, came by pur- 
chase from Lord Berkley, into the possession of 
Edward Bylling and John Fen wick, both Quakers ; 
and as they had a dispute about its division, the 
matter was referred to William Penn for arbitration. 
On the dispute being adjusted by his kind offices, 
Fenwick sailed for the new country, accompanied 
by several other Friends, to enter on possession of 
the portion which had been assigned him. Mean- 
time Bylling's affairs having become embarrassed, 
he assigned for the payment of his creditors what- 
ever could be realized by the sale of the land he 
had purchased from Lord Berkley. At his earnest 
request, William Penn united with two of his cre- 
ditors as trustees to see the matter fairly carried 
out. From the trusteeship thus commenced, in 
which the three Quakers were concerned, resulted 
the ultimate proprietorship and government of the 
province by the Quakers. 

The trustees drew up a description of the country 
and its products, which they circulated throughout 
the kingdom, inviting Friends and others to emi- 
grate thither; but earnestly recommending that 
" whosoever hath a desire to be concerned in this 
intended plantation should weigh the thing well 
before the Lord, and not headily or rashly con- 
clude on any such remove ; nor should they offer 
violence to the tender love of their near kindred, 
but soberly and conscientiously endeavour to obtain 



jo8 Indian ricjhis recognised. 

their good-v\'ill, and the unity of Friends where 
they live." 

Among the first purchasers were two companies 
of Quakers, one from Yorkshire, the other from 
London, each of which contracted for a large tract 
of land. In the years 1677 and 1678 five vessels 
sailed for the province of West New Jersey, with 
eight hundred emigrants, most of whom were mem- 
bers of the Society of Friends. Commissioners 
were chosen by the proprietors from the London 
and Yorkshire companies, and sent out to inspect 
the settlement of the emigrants, and to see that the 
just rights of any who had previously settled there, 
as some Dutch and Swedes had done, should not 
be infringed ; and with instructions to treat with the 
Indians, recognizing their native rights to those re- 
gions as hunting grounds, and to give them such 
compensation as should be mutually agreed on for 
allowing that section of the country to be differently 
appropriated. 

The nature of the articles offered or demanded 
for the Indian goodwill of the land may seem to us 
comparatively small ; but whatever it was that the 
Quaker commissioners gave them, it was very 
much more than any others gave in those days for 
similar lands ; for none others fully recognized the 
native rights. Smith tells us in his history that, 
for the tract of country extending twenty miles on 
the Delaware river, and lying between Oldman's 
creek and Timber creek, which was treated for by 



Purchase of lands. ^or) 

those commissioners in the year 1677, they gave 
the Indians as follows : — thirty match coats, twenty 
guns, thirty kettles, one great kettle, thirty pair of 
hose, twenty fathoms of duffles, thirty petticoats, 
thirty narrow hoes, thirty bars of lead, fifteen small 
barrels of powder, seventy knives, thirty Indian 
axes, seventy combs, sixty pair of tobacco tongs, 
sixty pair of scissors, sixty tinshaw looking-glasses, 
one hundred and twenty awl blades, one hundred 
and twenty fish-hooks, two grasps of red point, one 
hundred and twenty needles, sixty tobacco boxes, 
one hundred and twenty pipes, two hundred bells, 
one hundred Jew's harps, and six anchors of rum. 
The last named item, six anchors of rum, was con- 
ceded by the Quaker commissioners without due 
experience as to the evil efiect of ardent spirits on 
these natives of the forest. Some years after this 
transaction, when its fearfully demoralizing influ- 
ence became manifest, the Friends endeavoured to 
establish total abstinence societies among them — 
which of course were not known by that name, 
although they embraced the principle which it now 
represents. At one of those meetings we are told 
eight Indian kings were present, one of whom 
made the following speech : — 

"The strong liquor was first sold us by the 
Dutch ; they were blind ; they had no eyes ; they 
did not see it was for our hurt. The next people 
that came among us were the S vs^ecle.^, who continued 
the sale of the strong liquor to us ; they also were 



jio Indian teetotal Isin. 

blind ; they had no eyes ; they did not see it to be 
hurtful to us ; but if people will sell it to us, we are 
so in love with it that we caimot forbear it. When 
we drink it, it makes us mad ; we do not know 
what we do ; we then abuse one another ; we throw 
each other into the fire ; seven score of our people 
have been killed by reason of drinking it, since the 
time it was first sold to us. These people that sell 
it have no eyes. But now there is a people come 
to live among us that have eyes ; they see it to be 
for our hurt ; they are willing to deny themselves 
the profit of it for our good. These people have 
eyes ; we are glad such a people are come among 
us. We must put it down by mutual consent ; the 
cask must be sealed up ; it must be made fast ; it 
must not leak by day or by night ; and we give you 
these four belts of wampum, which we would have 
you lay up safe by you, to be witnesses of this 
agreement ; and we would have you tell your chil- 
dren that these four belts of wampum are given 
you to be witnesses betwixt us and you of this 
agreement." 

The Quaker commissioners recommended the 
adoption of various fundamental laws, which they 
sent home for the approval of the trustees. Among 
these a prominent one was, that " No person is 
to be molested for worshipping God according to 
his conscience." Tlie rights of conscience and of 
religious as well as civil freedom were strictly 
maintained. 



New JcvHcij prospers. 3 j i 

" The colony of ^^ est New Jersey," says Janiiey, 
"continued to prosper under the management of 
Penn and his associates. Colonist-s arrived in con- 
siderable numbers, good order and harmony pre- 
vailed, the country proved to be productive, the air 
was salubrious, and the Indians, being treated 
kindly and dealt with justly, were found to be 
excellent neighbours. The Friends, who had been 
persecuted with relentless severity in their native 
land, found a peaceful and happy asylum in the 
forests of the New World, among a people who had 
hitherto been reputed as ruthless savages. In the 
same province, ten years before, Carteret and 
Berkley required each colonist to provide himself 
with a good musket, powder and ball ; but now 
the Friends came among their red brethren armed 
only with the weapons of Christian warfare — inte- 
grity, benevolence, and truth — and they met them 
without fear or suspicion." 

The Friends from that day to this have never 
altered in their Christian interest for the Indians, 
and have never withdrawn their care and efforts to 
keep them from indulging in the use of spirituous 
stimulants ; consequently the Red men up to the 
present time regard the American Quakers as their 
best and surest friends. 

About the time Penn undertook the trustee- 
ship, he removed his family from Rickmansworth 
to the Springett estate at Worminghurst in Sussex, 
which property came to him with his wife. Soon 



3 12 Pen It rcclslts ilte Cuntlnent. 

after lie had got tlie American affairs into order 
and the Quaker emigration thither fairly started, he 
joined George Fox, Robert Barclay, and a few 
other Friends in a* religious visit to the continent of 
Europe. Whilst on that missionary tour, he kept a 
journal. If he kept one on any other occasion it 
has not reached us, and therefore we may hold this 
to be an exceptional instance. In it he inserted 
various letters which passed between some persons 
of eminence and himself, in connection with reli- 
gious interests in Holland, Germany, and Poland. 
This journal was ultimately published, and after 
going through many editions, was republished in 
1835 as one of the volumes in Barclay's Select 
Sei'ies of Narratives of the Early Friends. It is 
consequently so accessible to most readers that I 
shall not pause over its details, but shall merely 
quote the opening and closing paragraphs : — 

" On the 22nd of the Fifth-month, 1677, being the 
first day of the week, I left my dear wife and family 
at Worminghurst in Sussex, in the fear and love of 
God, and came well to London that night. The 
next day I employed myself on Friends' behalf 
that were in suffering (as prisoners), till the evening; 
and then went to my own mother's in Essex. On 
the 24th I took my journey to Colchester," and 
there he met the Friends who started with Irim for 
Rotterdam. 

On the 2iid of Ninth-month, after an absence 



His return liome. 



3M 



of a little more than three months, he again arrived 
at Worminghnrst. He says : " I found my dear 
wife, child, and family all Avell, blessed be the name 
of the Lord God of all the families of the earth ! 
I had that evening a sweet meeting among them, 
in which God's blessed power made ns glad to- 
gether ; and I can say, truly blessed are they who 
can cheerfully give up to serve the Lord; great 
shall be the increase and growth of their treasure, 
which shall never end. 

" To Him that was, and is, and is to come, the 
eternal, blessed, righteous, powerful, and faithful 
One, be glory, honour, and dominion for ever and 
ever ! Amen. 

"William Penn." 

Another fjimily sorrow is dimly but certainly 
shadowed forth in the above words, " My dear wife ' 
and child." Little Margaret is not therein recog- 
nized ; Springett is undoubtedly the dear child 
alluded to as being well. Lie was then nearly two 
years old. The daughter who is mentioned in 
Penn's letter to a friend, written in 1674, had 
during the interim been taken hence to join her 
sister and brother in Hea^ven. 

The journal of AYilliam Penn's travels on the 
Continent in 1677 was written, as he tells us in the 
preface, for his own satisfaction and the information 
of some particular relatives and friends. Hence it 
was not designed for publication, nor was it sent to 



J 14 Pcjtits mannscrijjt diary. 

the press till 1694, seventeen years after its date. 
It was then brought to light through a copy that 
had been given to the Countess of Conway, pro- 
bably by Guli or her mother, that lady being a 
close friend of the Peningtons. After the death of 
the Countess the copy in question was found among 
her papers by a gentleman who had access to them, 
and who forthwith applied to William Penn for per- 
mission to publish it. On a re-examination of its 
contents, the author gave the desired permission. 
At that time the Princess Elizabeth of the Khine, 
several of whose letters to Penn, with his answers, 
enrich the pages of the journal, was dead ; and so 
probably were some other ladies whose religious 
history it mentions ; therefore, as a private record 
of religious feeling, the chief objection to its pub- 
licity at an earlier period no longer existed. 

That which appeared to be the original manu- 
script of that journal, which William Penn himself 
wrote in 1677 for the information of his personal 
friends, came into my hands since I commenced the 
compilation of this work. It is in perfect preserva- 
tion and is well written, but has the antiquated 
abbreviations which prevailed at that time, and 
which render old manuscripts so difficult to be read 
by those who are unaccustomed to them. But as I 
liave since heard of the existence of another manu- 
script copy, with siuiilar claims, it may be doubted 
whether William Penn himself wrote both. 

The English people and their representatives in 



Parllamcntarjj commlltce. 315 

parliament becoming more and more alarmed by 
the evident favour shown to Romanism by the 
King and his brother, a loud national call was heard 
for the revival of severe acts which had formerly 
been made against Papists. In conformity with 
this feeling, the parliament was proceeding to re- 
enact some persecuting laws against them which 
had fallen into disuse, when William Penn came 
forward to present petitions from the Society 
of Friends asking for discrimination in the laws 
between a conscientious objection against taking 
any oath whatever, and a disinclination to promise 
allegiance to the government and abjuration of the 
Papacy. The subject was referred to a committee, 
and'William Penn, on the 22nd of March, 1678, was 
summoned for examination before it. He made a 
speech, explaining the great hardships the Friends 
had endured in consequence of their scruple against 
swearing, and concluded as follows : — 

"It is hard that we must thus bear the stripes of 
another interest, and be their proxy in punishment, 
but it is worse that some men can be pleased with 
such administration. But mark : I would not be 
mistaken. I am far from thinking it fit, because I 
exclaim against the injustice of whipping Quakers 
for Papists, that Papists should be whipped for 
their consciences. No : though the hand, pretended 
to be lifted up agahist them, hath, I know not by 
what discretion, lighted heavily upon us, and we 
complain, yet we do not mean that any should 



3 1 6 Penn again he/ore the 

take a fresh aim at them, or that they should come 
hi our room ; for we must give the Hberty we ask, 
and cannot be false to our principles, though it were 
to relieve ourselves. And I humbly beg leave to 
add, that those methods against persons so quali- 
fied do not seem to me to be convincing, or, indeed, 
adequate to the reason of mankind ; but this I sub- 
mit to your consideration. To conclude: I hope 
we shall be held excused by the men of that pro- 
fession (the Roman Catholic) in giving this distin- 
guishing declaration, since it is not with design to 
expose them, but first to pay that regard we owe to 
the inquiry of this committee, and in the next place 
to relieve ourselves from the daily spoil and ruin 
which now attend and threaten many hundreds 
of families in the execution of laws which we 
humbly conceive were never made against us." 

Notwithstanding the prevalent excitement, that 
speech, marked as it was by a spirit of Christian 
justice, was received with attention and favourable 
consideration by the committee. They could not 
but respect the noble independence and the tolerant, 
truthful spirit of the speaker, who ventured thus 
openly to express himself against the wild current 
of popular persecution of Roman Catholics. How- 
ever, the members of committee wished to have 
another interview with him ; some of them, who 
had known him in early life, felt certain of his can- 
dour and truthfulness, but others found it hard to 
renounce the idea that he was a Jesuit in disguise. 



ParViamentanj committee. 3 1 7 

On his second appearance he thus addressed them. 
'' The candid hearino; onr sufFerin2i:s have received 
from you oblige me to add whatever can increase 
your satisfaction about us. I hope you do not 
believe I v/ould tell you a lie. I thank God it is too 
late in the day for that. There are some here who 
have known me formerly, and I believe they will 
say I was never that man. It would be strange if, 
after a voluntary neglect of the advantages of this 
world, I should sit down in my retirement short of 
common truth." He then proceeded to explain his 
own position thus. " I was bred a Protestant, and 
that strictly too. Reading, travel, and observation 
for years made the religion of my education the 
religion of my judgment ; and though the posture I 
am now in may seem strange to you, yet I am 
conscientious. I do tell you again, and solemnly 
declare in the presence of Almighty God, and 
before you all, that the profession I now make, and 
the society I now adhere to, have been so far from 
altering that Protestant judgment I had, that I am 
not conscious of having receded from an iota of any 
one principle maintained by those first Protestant 
reformers of" Germany, and our own martyrs at 
home, against the see of Rome. On the contrary, 
I do with great truth assure jow that we (the 
Friends) are of the same negative faith with the 
ancient Protestant church ; and upon fitting occa- 
sion shall be ready, by God's assistance, to make it 
appear we are of the same belief as to the most 



3i8 PeniLS speecli. 

fundamental, positive articles of her creed, too. 
And therefore it is that we think it hard, though we 
deny in common wdth her, those doctrines of Rome 
so zealously protested against, yet that we should 
be so unhappy as to suffer, and that with extreme 
severity, by those very laws on purpose made 
as^ainst the maintainers of those doctrines which we 
do so deny. We choose no suffering; for God 
knows what we have already suffered, and how 
many sufficient and trading families are reduced to 
great poverty by it. We think ourselves an useful 
people ; we are sure we are a peaceable people ; 
and if we must still suffer, let us not suffer as 
Popish recusants, but as Protestant dissenters. 

" But I would obviate another objection that hath 
been made against us, namely, that we are enemies 
of government in general, and particularly dis- 
affected to that which we live under. I think it not 
amiss, yea, it is my duty, now to declare to you in 
the sight of Almighty God, first that w^e believe 
government to be God's ordinance, and, next, that 
this present government is established by the pro- 
vidence of God and the law of the land, and that it 
is our Christian duty readily to obey it in all its 
just laws ; and wherein we cannot comply through 
tenderness of conscience, in no such case to revile 
or conspire against the government, but with 
Christian humility and patience tire out all mistakes 
aljout us ; and wait the better information of those 
who do as undeservedly as severely treat us. I 



Titus Gates i^lot, 319 

know not wliat greater securities can be given by 
any people." 

The committee, and fnially the House of Com- 
mons, being at length satisfied that conscientious 
scruples against swearing alone prevented the 
Friends from taking the oaths, inserted a clause 
in the bill designed to relieve them from suffering 
the penalties enacted against disloyalty ; and thus 
it was sent up to the House of Lords. But before 
it had gone through the Upper House, a sudden 
prorogation of parliament prevented its becoming 
law. 

The summer of 1679 was not over when the 
pretended Popish plot, concocted by Titus Gates, 
threw the nation into the greatest ferment, and the 
stories of this abandoned impostor about what the 
Roman Catholics had done, and what they still 
resolved to do, aroused the utmost indignation of 
the people. Even the Parliament was stupefied with 
credulity and horror, so that all consideration for 
the Friends was lost sight of in consternation 
about the Popish plot. Savage persecution again 
resumed its work with intensified bitterness. Many 
Roman Catholics were accused, tried, and exe- 
cuted. The storm also came down unrelentingly 
on the heads of the innocent Quakers, who refused 
to take the required oaths or to discontinue or con- 
ceal their religious meetings. Any accusations of 
participation in the plot which were brought against 
them were easily refuted. 



320 Penns address to Protestants. 

Whilst matters stood thus, William Penn^ then 
in his country home at Worminghurst, wrote his 
Address to Protestants. A copy of the first edition 
of that work, published in the year 1679, during the 
season of the public fast and humiliation ordered in 
view of the plot, by Parliament, is now before me. 
It is in two parts. The first animadverts on the 
prevalent immoralities of the age, and the general 
disregard of God's laws throughout the nation, 
pointing especially to the responsibility of those in 
power, and the criminality of not using such power 
for the suppression of vice. The second part of 
the address takes a review of the religious errors 
prevailing among English Protestants, in matters 
of opinion, fiiith, and practice. This portion ex- 
hibits so clearly the religious principles of William 
Penn, that I would gladly give copious extracts 
from it if space permitted. 



CHAPTER XL 

1673--1682. 

Cessation of Isaac Penington's religious persecution. — Penington's letters 
— to his brother Arthur, a Roman Catholic — to Joseph Wright 
respecting his brother — to his sister Judith — to the Countess of Con- 
way. — Peace and happiness at Woodside. — Isaac and Mary Penington 
visit their property in Kent. — Isaac Penington's death. — Mary Pen- 
ington's memorial of her husband. — She anticipates her own decease. 
— Arranges her outward affairs and makes her will. — Takes her sons 
to school at Edmonton. — Her illness there. — Returns home. — 
Continued illness. — Her resignation, patience, and peace of mind. — 
She visits Worminghurst, and dies there. — Thomas Ellwood's lines 
on the death of his friends Isaac and Mary Penington. 

After the settlement of Isaac Penington at 
Woodside he suffered no further religious persecu- 
tion. His constitution had been greatly impaired 
by the treatment lie had previously endured, but 
the latter years of his life passed on peacefully, his 
affectionate wife watching carefully over his de- 
clining health. Their children grew up around 
them with indications of piety which made their 
parents' hearts thankful, and hopeful in view of the 
future. William and Gulielma Penn were near 
enough to ensure occasional intercourse between 
the two families ; and we may imagine how happj^ 
the intercourse must have been between such culti- 
21 321 



322 Letter from Isaac Pen'mgton 

vated religious minds, bound together as they were 
by the closest ties of love and relationshijD. 

Isaac Penington had a brother Arthur, who had 
not only joined the Roman Catholics, but had en- 
tered into orders, and become a priest. Of his his- 
tory beyond what may be drawn from two of 
Isaac's letters, no traces can be discovered. One of 
these letters was addressed to Arthur, the other to 
a mutual friend. 

Isaac Penington to his brother Arthur. 

"20th Tth mo. 1GT6. 

" Dear brother, 

" How can I hold my peace, and not 
testify of the love, mercy, and good-will of the Lord 
towards me, and invite others to the redeeming 
power of which the Lord in his goodness hath made 
me a partaker ? 

"And now, brother, a few words respecting thy 
return to what I sent thee — not for contention's 
sake, (the Lord knows my dwelling is in that life 
and peace which shuts it out,) but in the tender 
love and care of my heart concerning the eternal 
welfiire of thy soul. All may agree in notions 
about the regenerating power, but all do not re- 
ceive the regenerating power [into their hearts], nor 
are all truly regenerated in the sight of God ; nor 
come to witness the head of the serpent crushed, 
and his works destroyed, and kingdom laid waste 



to Ids hrotlier Artliar. 2>'^^ 

inwardly by this power ; whicli must be witnessed if 
a man be translated out of the kingdom of dark- 
ness into the kingxlom of the dear Son. 

" But that the w^ork of regeneration is only be- 
gun in this life, and not finished till the other life, 
is a great mistake. For the Scriptures testify that 
salvation is to be wrought out here, and not here- 
after. Christ had all power in heaven and earth, 
and He sent forth His Spirit to carry out the work 
here, and His sanctifying power is able to sanctify 
thought, soul, body, and spirit. Holiness is not 
only to be begun here, but perfected in the fear of 
God. The whole armour of God is able to defend 
the whole man from all the assaults of the wicked 
one, for greater is He in the saints that preserves 
from sin, than he that tempts to sin. 

" There is a holy hill of God, a spiritual Zion, a 
mountain whereupon His house is built, which the 
wing of the Almighty overshadows ; and His sheep 
that are gathered by the great Shepherd and 
Bishop of the soul feed there, and none can make 
them afraid. The flesh will be rebellimi: a^^ainst 
the Spirit until it be destrojed by the cross of our 
Lord Jesus Christ. But when a man is dead to 
sin, sin hath no more power over him. And this is 
true blessedness, begun by the pure power of the 
Word of Life in the heart. 

" Blessed be the Lord, who hath brought many 
wanderers and distressed ones to the sight of the 
True Church, and to delightful obedience to her 



324 Letter from Isaac Peidngton 

whose voice is not different to Christ's, but one 
with it ; and such are in fellowship with the Father 
and Son, and with the saints Avho dwell in the 
lidit. These are clothed with the Lamb's inno- 
cency and righteousness, and do not dwell in dark- 
ness nor in sin ; having crucified the old man with 
his affections and lusts, and put off the body of the 
sins of the flesh by the circumcision of Christ, and 
put on the new man created in Christ Jesus in the 
righteousness and holiness of Truth. They that 
are here dwell not in fancies, nor feed on fancies, 
but on eternal life, in the pure pastures of life, 
where the Shepherd of the inward spiritual Israel 
feeds his holy flock day by day. 

"As for the Romish church, or any other church 
built up in the apostacy, the Lord has given me to 
see through them to that which was before them, 
and will be after them. And, oh ! dear brother, if 
thou couldst l)ut rightly wait for and meet with the 
holy, regenerating, purifying power which in tender 
love I have testified to thee of, it would lead thee 
to that which is the True Church indeed, which 
hath been persecuted by the dragon and the false 
church. 

"' The Lord hath made me thy brother in the 

line of nature. Oh ! that thou wert my brother in 

that Truth which lives and abides for ever ! Oh ! 

that tliou knew the church of the first-born — the 

* Jerusalem which is above, which is free, which is 



to Joseph Wright. 325 

the mother of all who are born of the regenerating 
virtue and power ! 

"I. P." 

There is no evidence of the time which may have 
elapsed between the writing of the preceding letter 
and the undated letter which follows. 

To Joseph Wright. 

" I entreat thy son to acquaint my brother 
Arthur that I took very kindly and was glad of 
his affectionate expressions towards me ; having 
been somewhat jealous that though my religion had 
enlarged my love towards him, yet his religion 
might have diminished his to me. I bless the 
Lord on his behalf, that he enjoys his health so 
well ; and for myself, though formerly exceedingly 
weakly, yet the inward life and comfort which the 
Lord daily pleaseth to administer to me, increaseth 
the health and strength of my natural man beyond 
my expectation. Blessed be my tender and merci- 
ful Father, who hath visited one so distressed and 
miserable as I was for so many years. 

" And whereas he saith he is like me in speech, 
l)ut most unlike me in opinion, pray tell him 
from me that my religion doth not lie in opinions. 
I was weary and sick at heart of opinions, and, had 
not the Lord brought that to my hand which my 
soul wanted, I had never meddled with religion. 
But as I had felt in my heart that which was evil. 



326 Letter from Isaac Penutgton 

and wliicli was not of God, so the Lord God of my 
life pointed me to that of Him in my heart which 
was of another nature, teaching me to wait for and 
know His appearance there ; in subjection I have 
experiencfid Him stronger than the strong man 
that was there before. And now truly I feel union 
with Him, and His blessed presence every day. 
What this is unto me my tongue cannot utter. 

" I could be glad, if the Lord saw good, that I 
might see my brother before I die ; and if I did see 
him, I should not be quarrelling with him about his 
religion, but embrace him in brotherly love. As 
for his being a papist, or an arch-papist, that doth 
not damp my tender affection to him. If he be a 
papist, I had rather have him a serious than a loose 
papist. If he hath met with anything of that 
which brings forth an holy conversation in him, he 
hath so far met with somewhat of my religion, 
which teacheth to order the conversation aright, in 
the light and by the spirit and power of the Lord 
Jesus. 

" My religion is not a new thing, though more 
fully revealed now than in many foregoing ages. 
It consists in that which was long before popery 
was, and will be when popery shall be no more. 
He that would rightly know the True Church must 
know the living stones whereof the True Church is 
built, against which the gates of hell cannot 
possibly prevail. Oh ! the daily joy of my heart in 
feeling my living membership in this churchy where 



to Jiis sister Judith. 327 

the true "gold," the "white raiment," the pure 
"eyesalve" (with which the eye, being anointed, 
sees aright) is received by such as the world knows 
not. Blessed be the name of the Lord ! 

" I desire my sincere, entire affection, as in God's 
sight, may be remembered to my dear brother. 

''I. P." 

No further traces of intercourse between the.-^e 
brothers have come to light. They had a sister 
Judith, to whom her elder brother occasionally 
wrote. Two of his letters to her, one written in 
1678, the other without date, are in the manuscri[)t 
collection of Penington letters in the Devonshire 
House. The following, without date, is selected for 
insertion. 

Isaac Penington to his sister Judith. 

" Dear sister, 

" Is thy soul in unity with God, or art thou se- 
parated from Him ? Whither art thou travelling ? 
Oh, whither art thou travelling ? Is it towards the 
eternal rest and peace of thy soul, or from thy 
soul's life towards spiritual death ? Every day thou 
art sowing somewhat which thou must hereafter 
reap. What art thou daily sowing ? Will th^i 
crop at last be comfortable to thee ? Oh ! dear 
sister, if thou art not able to bear the pains of the 
earthly body, should the Lord therein set his hand 
upon thee, how wilt thou be able to bear the misery 



3^8 Letter from Isaac PcnliKjton 

which is prepared for souls that go out of this 
world unrenewed in nature, and unreconciled to 
God. And, indeed, my sister, to repent, and to 
believe, and be united to Christ, and grow up in the 
nature of another spirit, that there mav be a reap- 
ing of what is spiritually sown, are things of great 
weight, fully as necessary as the Scripture expres- 
seth. Now is thy time of being gathered to the 
Lord. If the time the Lord hath given thee be 
lost, what will become of thy soul ? The enemy 
will do all he can to keep thee asleep ; but the 
Lord hath not been wanting in sometimes awaken- 
ing thee. If ever thou enter into the eternal rest, 
thou must hearken to the voice, and walk in the 
path that leads to that rest. 

" Dear sister, I lay not stress on the outward 
forms of religion ; but this I am sure of, every one 
that is saved must feel the power of spiritual life, 
and know of the secret rebukes of the Lord in 
heart, and be subject to Him therein. Take heed 
what thy heart chooseth, for that will be thy 
portion forever. If the spirit of this world prevail, 
and thou choose this world, thou art undone. If, 
under the awakening of God, thy soul chooses life, 
and His fear be planted in thy heart, His wisdom 
^vill teach thee to take up the cross daily to the 
nature and spirit in thee which are not of Him. 

" I have writ this in the pity and love of God 
unto thee, who herein is seeking thy soul. 

-' Thy truly loving brother, I. P." 



to the Countess of Conioay. j2q 

The Countess of Conway, to wlioui a manii- 
script copy of William Penn's travels in Holland 
was presented, as has been mentioned in the last 
chapter, was a correspondent of Isaac Penington. 
Several of his letters to her are extant. I select 
tlie followin.2: for insertion here. 



Isaac Penington to the Countess of Conway. 

" Dear Friend, 

'- As I was lately retired in spirit and 
waiting upon the Lord, having a sense in me cf 
thy long, sore, and deep affliction and distress, 
there arose a scripture in my heart to lay before 
thee, namely, Heh. xii. 5, 6, 7, which I entreat thee 
to call for a Bible and hear read, before thou pro- 
ceedest to what follows. 

" Oh ! my friend, after it hath pleased the Loi d 
in tender mercy to visit us, and turn our minds 
from the world and from ourselves towards Him, 
and to beget and nourish that which is pure and 
living and of Himself in us, }' ( t, notwithstand- 
ing this, there remains somewhat at first, and 
perhaps for a long time, which is to 'oe searclx d 
out by the light of the Lord,^ and brought down 
and subdued by His afflicting hand. When there 
is somewhat of an holy will formed in the day of 
God's power; and the soul is in souie m asure 
brought to live to God, yet all the earthly will and 
wisdom is not thereby presently removed ; hidden 



3 JO Isaac Penlnrjto)LS letters. 

things of the old nature and spirit still remain 
perhaps, though they appear not, but sink into 
their root that they may save their life. And these 
man cannot possibly find out in his own heart, but 
as the Lord reveals them to him. But how doth 
the Lord point them out to us ? Oh ! consider this. 
B}^ His casting into the furnace of affliction, the fire 
searcheth. Deep, sore, distressing afiOiiction finds 
out both the seed and the chaff", purif) ing the pure 
gold and consuming the dross. Then at length the 
quiet state is witnessed, and the quiet fruit of 
righteousness brought forth by the searching and 
consuming operation of the fire. Oh ! that thy 
soul may be brought to victory over all which is not 
of the pure life in thee, and that thou mayest feel 
healing, refreshment, support, and comfort from the 
God of thy life. May the Lord guide thee daily, 
and keep thy mind to Ilim. Help, pity, salvation 
will arise in His due time ; (but not from anything 
t^iou canst do ;) and faith will spring up, and 
patience be given, and hope in the tender Father of 
mercy, and a meek and quiet spirit be witnessed. 
Look not at thy pain as sorrow, liow great soever. 
Look from them, beyond them, to the Deliverer 
whose tender spirit is able to do thee good by 
them. 

" Oh ! that the Lord may lead thee, day by day, 
in the right way, and keep thy mind stayed upon 
Him in whatever belalls thee, that the belief in His 
lovCj and hope and trust in His mercy, when thou 



Isaac Peningtons letters. .331 

art at the lowest ebb, may keep thy head above the 
billows. 

" The Lord God of ray life be with thee, pre- 
serving and ordering thy heart for the great day 
of His love and mercy, which will come in the 
appointed season, when thy heart is fitted by the 
Lord for it." 

Isaac Peningtons religious letters are numer- ' 
ous ; some are in print and many still in manu- 
script. Judgment is required in selecting from ] 
them what may be interesting to readers in general | 
of the present day. They are of a peculiar cast^ 
corresponding of course with the mind from which 
they emanated ; and that mind was by no means ' 
of a common order. In some of them his indivi- ! 
dual religious experience may have been soraetimes 1 
made to an undue extent the standard by which the 
genuineness of the religious feelings of other minds | 
was tested. It is common for persons of earnest 
religious minds not duly to recognise that which 
the Apostle tells us of the diversities of operation j 
through the same Spirit. We are all more or less \ 
liable to be thus influenced ; but some are con- i 
scions of the danger, and others are not. The | 
latter will often, even when sincerely desiring to I 
judge charitably and rightly, come to positively 
erroneous conclusions respecting the religious feel- j 
ings of those who cannot see as they do. ] 

It is pleasant to know that in life's evening the j 



332 Death of Isaac Penlncjtoii. 

family at Woodside were suffered to enjoy without 
molestation the peace and comfort of their humble 
home. It was not on what they lost of this world's 
wealth that the father and mother were then dis- 
posed to dwell, but on what they had gained in 
the sense of Divine approval, and the assurance 
of the Lord's presence being with them and their 
children. This added far more to their happiness 
than all the wealth the world could bestow. In 
true thankfulness and contentedness they could 
praise their Heavenly Father's care, which had cir- 
cled around them amid fierce persecution, and now 
filled their hearts with love and devout trust in 
Him. 

In the autumn of 1679 both husband and wife 
went into Kent to Mary Penington's native place ; 
and, after visiting the tenants on her estate there, 
they remained a short time at one of the farms 
called Goodenstone Court. Just at the time they 
had fixed to return to Woodside, Isaac Penington 
took ill. His disease was one of acute sufiering, 
and in a few days the closing scene of earthly life 
arrived. His soul ascended to its home on high, 
and his wife tells us her spirit was suffered at that 
moment to join his, and rejoicingly to see the 
Heavenly mansion prepared for him. 

His remains were interred in the burial-ground 
belonging to his beloved friends of Chalfont at 
Jordans, where a small white headstone now marks 



Mary Peningtons testimony. 1^22 

the spot with the name and date, " Isaac Penwg- 
ton, 1679." His age was sixty-three. 

Many testimonies were published respecting the 
Christian life and worth of this good man. I would 
gladly insert those from his wife, his son John, 
and William Penn, if space permitted. But as 
this is not the case, and as his devotion to God, his 
meekness of spirit, and his Christian character may 
be gathered from what has been already written, 
I shall confine myself to an extract from that of 
Mary Penington : — 

" Whilst I keep silent touching thee, oh ! thou 
blessed of the Lord and His people, my heart 
burnetii within me. I must make mention of thee, 
for thou wast a most pleasant plant of renown, 
planted by the right hand of the Lord ; ' and thou 
tookest deep root downwards, and sprangest up- 
-wards.' The dew of heaven fell on thee, and made 
thee fruitful, and thy fruit was fragrant and most 
delightful. 

" Oh, where shall I begin to recount the Lord's 
remarka]:)le dealings with thee! He set His love on 
thee, oh ! thou who wert one of the Lord's peculiar 
choice. Thy very babyish daj^s declared of what 
stock and lineage thou wert. Thou desiredst ' the 
sincere milk of the word as a new-born babe,' even 
in the bud of thy age ; and who can declare how 
thou hadst travelled towards the Holy Land in the 
very infancy of thy days ? Who can tell what thy 



334 Mary Peidngiou's testimony 

80ul felt in thy travel ? Oh the heavenly, bright, 
living openings that were given thee ! God's light 
shone round about thee. Such a state as I have 
never known of in any other, have I heard thee de- 
clare of. But this it did please the Lord to with- 
draw, and leave thee desolate and mourning — 
weary of the night and of the day — naked and poor 
in spirit — distressed and bowed down. Thou re- 
fusedst to be comforted, because thou couldst not 
feed on that which was not bread from heaven. 

" In that state I married thee ; my love was 
drawn to thee, because I found thou sawest the 
deceit of all notions. Thou didst remain as one 
who refused to be comforted by anything that had 
only the appearance of religion, till ' He came to 
His temple who is Truth and no lie.' For all those 
shows of religion were very manifest to thee, so 
that thou wert sick and weary of them all. 

'' This little testimony to thy hidden life, my 
dear and precious one, in a day when none of the 
Lord's gathered people knew thy face, nor were in 
aii}^ measure acquainted with thy many sorrows, 
have I stammered out, that it might not be forgot- 
ten. But noAV that the day hath broken forth, and 
that thou wert so eminently gathered into it, and a 
fiithful publisher of it, I leave this other state of 
thine to be declared by the sons of the morning, 
who have witnessed the rising of the bright star of 
righteousness in thee, and its guiding thee to the 
Saviour, even Jesus, the First and tlie Last. They, 



respect uuj Iter Jiusband, 33^ 

I say, who are strong, and have overcome the evil 
one, and are fathers in Israel, have declared of thy 
life in God, and have published it in many testi- 
monies." 

"Ah me ! he is gone ! he that none exceeded in 
kindness, in tenderness, in love inexpressible to the 
relation of a wife. Next to the love of God in 
Christ Jesus to my soul, Avas his love precious and 
delightful to me. My bosom one ! my guide and 
counsellor ! my pleasant companion ! my tender, 
sympathizing friend ! as near to the sense of my 
pain, sorrow, grief, and trouble, as it was possible ! 
Yes, this great help and benefit is gone ; and I, a 
poor worm, a very little one to him, compassed 
about with many infirmities, through mercy was en- 
abled to let him go without an unadvised word of 
discontent or inordinate grief. Nay, further, such 
was the great kindness the Lord showed me in that 
hour, that my spirit ascended with him that very 
moment the spirit left his body, and I saw him safe 
in his own mansion, and rejoiced with him there. 
From this sight my spirit returned again, to per- 
form my duty to his outward tabernacle. 

" This testimony to Isaac Penington 
is from the greatest loser of all who 
had a share in his life, 

" Mary Pexington." 

"Written at my house ;it Woodside, the 27th of 
2nd month, 1G80, between Twelve and One at 
niffht, whilst watchin[r bv my ^ick child.'' 



^^6 Mary Peningtons 

About four months after the foregomg date 
Mary Penington took William and Edward, her 
two youngest sons, to place them at school at 
Edmonton. Before leaving home she made her 
will, and arranged her family affairs, under the im- 
pression that her life was not likely to be of long 
duration. She also wrote a letter during that inter- 
val to her grandson Springett Penn, to be given to 
him after her death, when he had attained an age 
able to understand it. The letter in question is 
that from which I have obtained most of the infor- 
mation respecting Sir William Springett which is 
contained in the earlier pages of this work. It 
commences as follows : — 

" Dear child, 

" Thou bearing the name of thy 
worthy grandfather Springett, I felt one day the 
thing I desired was answered, which was the keep- 
ing up his name and memory. He dying before 
thy mother was born, thou couldst not have the 
opportunity of her putting thee in remembrance of 
him. So I am inclined to mention this good man 
to thee, that thou mayest preserve his memory in 
thy mind, and have it for a pattern; that, following 
him as he followed Christ, thou mayest not only 
continue his name in the family, but, walking in his 
footsteps, partake of his renown, by being the vir- 
tuous ofi'spring of this truly great man." 



personal narrative. ^37 

During tlie interval in question she added the 
following record to her own personal narrative : — 

" Now the Lord hath seen good to make me a 
wddow, and leave me in a desolate condition as to 
m}' guide and companion ; but He hath mercifully 
disentangled me, and I am in a very easy state as 
to my outward being. I have often desired of the 
Lord to make way for me, waiting on Plim without 
distraction. Living a life free from cumber, I 
most thankfully and humbly, in deep sense of His 
gracious kind dealings, receive the disposing of my 
lands as from Him. I have cleared great part of 
the mortgage, and paid most of my bgnd debts, 
and I can compass very easily the ground in my 
hands. 

" In this Fourth-month, 1680, I have made my 
will, and disposed of my estate, and have no con- 
siderable debt on it, and leave a handsome provi- 
sion for J. P. and M. P., and the younger ones, to fit 
them for a decent calling. I have also left provi- 
sion for my debts and legacies. I call it a comely 
provision for my children, considering they are pro- 
vided for out of my lands of inheritance, having 
nothing of their father's. Though mourning for 
the loss of my worthy companion, and exercised 
with the sickness and w^eakness of my children, in 
my outward condition and habitation I am to my 
heart's content. No great family to cumber me ; 
living private, with time to apply my heart to wis- 
dom in the numbering of my days ; believing them 



23^ Mary Penhujtons 

to be but few, I stand ready to die. Still I feel 
that death is the king of fear ; and that strength to 
triumph over him must be given me in the needful 
time. The Lord must then stand by me, to resist 
that evil one who is often busy when the tabernacle 
is dissolving. 

" Oh ! Lord, what quiet, safety, or ease is there 
in any state but in feeling thy living power ? All 
happiness is in this, and nothing but amazement, 
sorrow, perplexity and woe out of it. Oh ! let me 
be kept by that power, and in it walk with God in 
His pure fear ; and then I matter not how unseen I 
am, or ho^ little friendship I have in the world. 
Oh Lord ! Hhou knowest what I have yet to go 
through, but my hope is in thy mercy to guide and 
support me ; and then I need not be doubtful, nor 
in concern about what is to come upon me. 

"The foregoing I writ before I went to Edmon- 
ton, which was in Sixth-month, 1680. And as if I 
were to go thither on purpose to be proved by the 
Lord, according to what I had before written, and 
to be exercised by Him in all things that were in 
my view when I set my house in order, it pleased 
the Lord, in a week's time after my going there, to 
visit me with a violent burning fever, beyond what 
I ever felt. Indeed, it was very tedious. I made 
my moan in these words, ' Distress ! distress !' feel- 
ing as if that comprehended sickness, uneasiness, 
want of rest and comfortable accommodation ; it 
being a school, and so unquiet, with but little at- 



personal narrative, 239 

tendance, and away from my own home, where I 
could have had every thing I needed. 

" I had scarcely any time in all that illness, that 
I could have taken even so much as a quarter of an 
hour for the settling of my affairs. The kindness 
and mercy of the Lord having put into my heart to 
consider that it might be as it was with my dear 
husband, that I should never return home again. 
These memorable dealings of the Lord with me I 
now recount this 3rd day of the Second month, 
1681, in a thankful humble sense of His mercy, being 
in my bed still unrecovered of that forementioned 
illness, which commenced eight months since. 

" Now it is upon me, in the holy fear of the 
Lord, to declare to you, my dear children, of what 
great service it was to me in my sickness, that I 
had nothing to do but to die when the Lord visited 
me. The Lord was pleased to assure me I should 
have a mansion, according to His good pleasure, in 
His holy habitation. Through this knowledge I 
was left in a quiet state, out of any feelings of the 
sting of death ; not having the least desire to live, 
though I did not witness any measure of triumph 
and joy. I could often say it is enough that I am 
in peace, and have not a thought day nor night of 
anything that is to be done in preparation for my 
going hence. 

"After having been fourteen days ill at Edmon- 
ton, my fever greatly abated, and in a month's time 
from that I came from thence to London in some 



3 40 Ma ry Pei i iiigtons 

dearee of strength. After being seven w ( eks there, 
the Lord brought me home again to my own house. 
But that night I was smitten again with sickness, 
of v,4iich I remain weak and low to this day. 

"2Tth of 4th mo. 1681. — As I was waiting this 
morning on the Lord with some of my f[imily, I 
found an inchnation in my mind to mention the 
continuance of my illness to this day, which from 
the time of being first visited wants not many 
weeks of a year. In all that time, such has been 
the goodness of the Lord to me, that, as was said 
of Job, ' in all this he sinned not, nor charged God 
foolishly,' so may I say that, through the presence 
of God's power with me, I have not had a murmur- 
ing thought or a complaining mind. This has 
been my constant frame. It is well I have had no 
grievous thing to undergo, except these late sore 
fits of pain so full of anguish. The Lord hath 
graciously stopped my desires after every pleasant 
thing. I have not found in my heart to ask of 
Him to restore me to my former health and 
strength ; that, I might have the pleasantness of 
my natural sleep, or be able to walk about the 
house, or go abroad in the air, to take a view of the 
beautiful creation. All that I have desired during 
this long exercise in reference to my condition 
hath been some ease in my fits of pain. For this I 
have earnestly cried to the Lord for directions to 
some means of help, that I might have the pain 
removed. But, save in these fits of sufiering, I 



personal narratlce. j^i 

have not asked anything of the Lord concerning 
life or health. I have waited upon Him with less 
distraction than when in health, and have many 
times said within myself, Oh ! this is very sweet 
and easy. He makes my bed in my sickness, and 
holds my eyes waking to converse with Him. 

" Death hath been many times before me, on 
which occasions I have rather embraced it than 
shrunk from it ; having for the most part found a 
kind of yielding in my spirit to die. I had all my 
days a great sense of death, and subjection to the 
fear of it, till I came to be settled in the Truth ; 
but now the fear of death, that is, the state after 
death, is removed. Yet there remaineth still a 
deep sense of the passage ; how strait, hard, and 
difficult it is; even in some cases to those over 
whom the second death hath no power." 

No further records have been discovered respects 
ing Mary Penington, who died on the IStli of 
Seventh-month, 1682, at Worminghurst, where she 
was staying with her daughter Gulielma Penn. 
From thence her remains were taken for interment 
to Jordans, where they were laid beside those of her 
husband. 

In the autograph volume of Thomas Elhvood's 
poetical pieces described in last chapter, I find the 
follov/ing heretofore unpublished lines, wliicli refer 
in terms touchinfrly descriptive to Mary Pening- 
t'ju's lincieriuf'' illnesti aiter her liu-j blind's decease. 



42 Memorial lines hij Thomas Ellwood. 

ON HIS DEAR DECEASED FRIENDS ISAAC 
AND MARY PENINGTON 

Since first made one as one they lived together, 
In heart and mind, in life and spirit one, 

Till death in part this unity did sever, 
B^- taking him, and leaving her alone. 
In silent grief his absence to bemoan. 

He being gone, she could not long survive 
But daily from his death began to die. 

And rather seemed to be, than was, alive, 
Joj^less till by his side she came to lie, 
Her spirit joined to his again on high. 



CHAPTER XII. 

1681-1684. 

William Penn applies to Charles 11. for a grant of land in America. — 
Obtains a charter for Pennsylvania. — Penn's motives in this undertak- 
ing. — His code of laws. — His coadjutors in the work. — Algernon 
Sidney. — Penn's letter to Sidney. — Hepworth Dixon on the early 
Quakers. — Death of Lady Penn. — Penn's farewell letters on leaving 
England. — Emigration to Pennsylvania.— His treaty of peace with the 
Indians. — Purchases of land from them.— Gulielma Penn in her 
husband's absence. — Poetical address by Thomas Ellwood to his friend 
in America. — Letter from Gulielma Penn to Margaret Fox. — William 
Penn's return. — His letter to Margaret Fox. 

William Penn's publication of his Address 
to Protestants in the year 1679 was succeeded by a 
period of electioneering politics, in consequence of 
his earnest desire that his friend Algernon Sidney 
should be returned as representative to parliament 
for Guilford. The high opinion he entertained of 
Sidney's integrity and legislative ability induced 
him to make all the honourable efforts he could for 
his return. But they were unavailing ; for though 
he had a majority of votes, court influence was so 
strong in favour of his opponent, that Sidney was 
set aside by political manoeuvres. 

In consequence of his connection with New Jer- 
sey, Penn's thoughts had previously been directed 

243 



344 Wdlliun Pcjut ohialiis 

to Aiiierica as a grand theatre for the iiiaiiifestation 
of what just legislation and good government could 
effect. The recent defeat of his friend Sidney in- 
creasingly disgusted him with what he saw at home. 
The unpaid debt which the King still owed to him 
as Admiral Penn's heir, was therefore now regarded 
as a providential opening through which another 
free colony might be established beyond the Atlan- 
tic. His heart and hopes became intensely fixed 
on the realization of this project, which he thought 
would enable him to prove, in the face of an unbe- 
lieving world, that national government may be 
successfully conducted on the strict basis of Chris- 
tian morality. With the high and holy enthusiam 
of an enlightened mind, and all the religious ear- 
nestness of an unflinching persecuted Christian, he 
entered into the subject, and petitioned the King 
to sanction his project. It was opposed on various 
sides by intolerant men both in church and state ; 
but still Penn persevered. Those Avho were open 
to conviction he succeeded in convincing, and those 
who were not, sunk into a minority when it became 
evident that the royal inclination leaned towards 
the request ; and as the King felt it would be an 
easy way of getting clear of a debt winch he could 
not repudiate, he became iucreasingly favourable 
to Penn's jiroposal. At length the deed of pro- 
prietorsliip was ])repared, and the Kings signature 
attached to it under the date 4th of March, 1081. 
On that occasion the following letter was written : — 



a (jrant of PeRnsylixDila, 345 

William Peiin to Ids friend Rohcrt Taritcr, 
a Dublin nitrclicud. 



"Dear Friend, 

"After maii}^ waitings, vvatcbings, 
solicitings, and disputes in council, this day my 
province was confirmed to me under the great seal 
of England, with large pov/ers and privileges, by the 
name of Pennsylvania, a name the King would give 
it in honour of my father. I proposed New Wales, 
but the Secretary, a Welshman, refused to have it 
called New Wales Sylvania. Then, instead of 
Wales, they added Penn to it. Though I much 
opposed it, and went to the King to have it altered, 
he said it was past, and he would not take it upon 
him ; nor could twenty guineas more to the Under- 
Secretary vary the name. I feared lest it should 
be looJved on as vanity in me, and not respect, as it 
truly was, in the King to my father, whom he often 
mentions with praise." 

In another letter to Roljert Turner, Penn saj'S 
that he never had his mind so exercised to the 
Lord about any outward substance, adding, " Let 
the Lord now guide me by His wisdom, and pre- 
serve me to honour His name, and serve His Truth 
and people, that an example and standard may ]je 
set up to the nations. There may be room to set it 
up ilicre^ though none here." 

Throughout we may see that the mainspring of 
William Pcnn's project was a desire to promote the 



2^6 WiUlaiii Pcmts code 

Glory of God on cartli, aiid the establissliment of 
justice, peace, and good-will among men. These 
were his governing motives, and they are equally 
conspicuous in his legislation, and in the adminis- 
tration of his provincial government so far as he 
could control it. But if such good desires had not 
been aided by a comprehensive mind, a talent for 
organization, and great capacity for business, they 
would have utterly failed in setting up the standard 
which he wished to erect. A less active mind with 
such views would have been overwhelmed b}^ the 
crowd of business, and the varied responsibilities 
which pressed upon him, after the deed of proprie- 
torship was placed in his hands. He had at that 
time a wide acquaintance with the leading mem- 
bers of the Society of Friends, several of whom 
had been associated with him in the legislation 
for, and management of Eastern New Jersey. He 
knew those wdio were capable of aiding him in his 
object, and he availed himself of their assistance. 

'^ It must not be supposed," says Jaiuiej, " that 
the aduiiral)le constitution and code of laws which 
have shed so much lustre on William Penn's name, 
w^ere the unaided result of his single genius. Al- 
though there w^as proljably no man then living 
whose mind was so free from prejudice, and so fully 
enlightened on the subject of government, yet there 
were among his iViends, concerned with him in the 
enterprise, several persons of enlarged minds and 
liberal ideas, who performed an important though 



for Pcnnsijlcania. 347 

subordinate share, in the work. They had frequent 
conferences together, and the code they adopted 
was the result of their united labours. 

" It must also be considered that the doctrines 
and discipline of the Society of Friends, which were 
first promulgated by George Fox, had a controlling 
influence on tiie mind of Penn, and furnished him 
with views and principles, which, being engrafted 
into his constitution and laws, gave rise to their 
most salutary and remarkable features." Janney 
then proceeds to compare and contrast the laws of 
Penn with those drafted for the Carolinas by John 
Locke, his great contemporary, and adds, " How 
shall we account for the remarkable disparity? 
Both men were possessed of talents and virtues of 
the highest order, combined with humane and tole- 
rant feelings. Is not the superiority of Penn's 
frame of government to be attributed to the pecu- 
liar influence of his religious associations ? He was 
united in fellowship with a people whose principles 
and practice were essentially democratic ; they ac- 
knowledged no priestly distinction of clergy and 
laity; they placed a low estimate on hereditary 
rank, and they laid the foundation of their church 
discipline on the supremacy of that divine principle 
in man which leads to universal fraternity." 

Assuredly Penn's American biographer is right. 
His social and religious surroundings, after he liad 
joined the Friends, had trained William Penn's 
mind in a direction opposite to that which leads to 



348 William Penns code 

class legislation. When he established just laws for 
all, without special privileges for any class, and 
liberty of conscience on its broadest religious basis; 
and declared that no armed soldiery was to be em- 
ployed by the government in its concerns, or to be 
raised or recognized within the province ; and that 
no oaths whatever were to be required of witnesses 
in the courts of justice; he was only bringing into 
national operation what his Quaker feelings and 
principles had previously caused him to regard as 
Christian morals. 

In relation to crime and its suppression the great 
feature of his code was the substitution of preven- 
tion and reformation for legal vengeance. All the 
prisons were to be workhouses, in which the refor- 
mation of prisoners was to be aimed at. The 
means of education were to be placed within the 
reach of all, and men of every colour were to be 
equally protected by the laws. Then and for ages 
after the penal code of England aw\arded death as 
the punishment of a great variety of crimes. Penn 
at one bold stroke exempted from the punish- 
ment of death about two hundred offences which 
were then capital in England. Wilful murder was 
the only crime for which death was awarded in 
Pennsylvania. Its retention even in that case ap- 
pears to liave resulted from a conA'iction that if it 
were al)olished, the government at liome would 
have interposed to re-enact it. Such laws were 
but the national embodiment of those that have 



for Pennsylvania. 349 

been upheld in the Society of Friends from its 
first organization. 

Lociie's frame of government for Carolina rested 
on the assumption that privileged classes are neces- 
sary in a state. What these privileges were to be 
both in church and state was elaborately defined. 
Dixon says that the Earl of Shaftesbury united 
with Locke in the work, and that " These two 
liberal and enlightened men had draAvn up a form 
of government which England received as the per- 
fection of Vvdsdom." Yet their constitution and 
code proved an utter failure. He adds, " To un- 
derstand how much Penn was wiser than his age, 
more imbued with the principles which have found 
their nobler utterances in our own, he must be mea- 
sured not only against the fanatics of his sect, and 
unlettered men like Fox, but against the highest 
types of learning and liberality which it afforded. 
Between John Locke and William Penn there is a 
gulf like that which separates the seventeenth from 
the nineteenth century. Locke never escaped from 
the thraldom of local ideas ; the one hundred and 
seventy years which have parsed away since Penn 
founded the state which bears his name, seem only 
to have carried Europe so much nearer to the 
source from which his inspiration flowed." 

It is not evident that W. Hepworth Dixon him- 
self very clearly perceived the source from which 
Penn's inspiration flowed. Most certainly he has 
not traced it, if he did ; nor has he done justice to 



jy 



Lifter frum William 'PtJin 



Penn\s friends and co-workers in their great under- 
taking. Janney understood them and their history 
better, and he has brought forward the real circum- 
stances of the case ; showmg the Quaker influences 
which had prepared Penn for the work, and the 
assistance he received from some of his fellow 
professors, who cordially aided without equalling 
him in sustaining and developing the new experi- 
ment. 

Dixon introduces Algernon Sidney as if he were 
Penn's chief counsellor and only coadjutor; "so 
that it is quite impossible," he says, '' to separate 
the exact share of one legislator from the other, so 
intricate and continuous was their mutual aid," in 
fr,aming the constitution and preparing the laws for 
the government of Pennsylvania. This statement 
does not appear to have any other foundation than 
the writer's own deductions, — and, as appears to 
some of us, utterly unwarranted deductions — from 
a single letter written by Penn to Sidney. Dixon 
refers to that letter as his authority, and he gives 
the date as 13th of October, 1681, but does not 
quote from it. The reader will find it below.* 

* Williivn Penn to Algernon Sidney. 

"13th October, 1681. 
" There are many things make a man's life uneasy in the world, 
•which are great abates to the pleasure of living, but scarcely one equal 
to that of the unkindness or injustice of friends. 

"I have been asked by several since I came last to town if Colonel 
Sidney aud I were fallen out, and when I denied it and laughed at it, 



io AUjcrtion Sidneij. 351 

I must here say a few words for George Fox and 
the early Quakers in general, " whose fanaticism," 
and " grotesque follies," as Dixon terms them, have 
b:3en placed before his readers in glowing colours. 
It is true he admits the fanaticism was shared at 
that time by the rest of the religious world, and 
that what was grand and genuine m their enthusi- 
asm belonged to the Quakers themselves. Not- 
withstanding this admission, his reference to the 

they told me I was mistaken, and, to convince me, stated that he had 
used me very ill to several persons if not companies, saying, 'I had a 
good country, but the basest laws in the world, not to be endured or 
lived under ; and that the Turk was not more absolute than I.' This 
made me remember the discourse we had together at my house about me 
drawing constitutions, not as proposals, but as if fixed to the hand; 
and as my act to which the rest were to comply, if they would be con- 
cerned with me. I could not but call to mind that the objections 
were presently complied with, both by my verbal denial of all such 
constructions as the words might bear, as if they ivcre imposed and not 
yet free for debate. And also that I took my pen and immediately 
altered the terms, so that they correspond (and, I truly thought, 
more properly) with thy sense. Upon this thou didst draw a draft as 
to the frame of government, gave it to me to read, and we discoursed it 
with considerable argument. It was afterwards called for back by thee 
to finish and polish ; and I suspended proceedings in the business ever 
since. 

"I met with this sort of language in the mouths of several : I shall 
not believe it ; 'twere not well in me to an enemy, less so to a friend. 
But if it be true, I shall be sorry we ever were so well acquainted, or 
that I have given so much occasion to them that hate us, to laugh at me 
for more true friendship and steady kindness that T have been guilty of 
to any man- I know living. It becomes not my pretensions to the 
things of another life to be much in pain about the uncertainties of this. 
Be it as it will, I am yet worthy of a line. 

" Thy real friend, 

" ^YILLIAM PeNX." 



352 Defence of the carl I J Quakers. 

Friends as fanatics is repeated. And he describes 
their proceedings in a style which leaves the im- 
pression that they well deserved the title. But his 
pictures, drawn from the statement of their enemies, 
are not correct; and, being distorted by their color- 
ing, they do great injustice to a most devoted, 
persecuted. Christian people. It is quite true, how- 
ever, that their enemies ascribed to them every 
grotesque folly which Penn's biographer recapitu- 
lates. But who would think of taking any man's 
history from the report of his bitter enemies? 
Such untested statements are unworthy of a his- 
torian, and unwarrantable in a history having 
any pretension to fidelity. 

The whole reminds us of that which Isaac Pen- 
ins^ton said in one of his letters to his father, and 
which w^ill be found at page 96 of this volume, 
respecting the extravagant stories then afloat about 
the Quakers. He tells him *^ if he takes things by 
the report of the enemies both to God and them, he 
shall be sure to hear and believe bad enough" of 
them. It is clear that Penn's biographer has 
founded the false character he gives George Fox 
and the early Friends upon the report of their 
enemies. 

The poet Whittier has beautifully portrayed the 
true Quaker of the olden time in the following 
stanzas : — 



Stanzas hj) Wldttier. 353 

The Quaker of the olden time ! 

So cahn, and firm, and true, 
Unspotted by its wrong and crime, 

He walked the dark earth through. 
The lust of power, the love of gain, 

The thousand lures of sin 
Around him had no power to stain 

The purity within. 

With that deep insight which detects 

All great things in the small, 
And knows how each man's life affects 

The spiritual life of all, 
He walked by faith and not by sight, 

B}^ love and not by law ; 
The presence of the wrong or right 

He rather felt than saw. 

He felt that wrong with wrong partakes ; 

That nothing stands alone ; 
That whoso gives the motive makes 

His brother's sin his own. 
And, pausing not for doubtful choice 

Of evils great or small, 
He listened to that inward voice ] 

Which calls away from all. ] 

j 

Oh ! spirit of that carl}^ da}^ 

So pure and strong and true, j 

Be with us in the narrow way 1 

Our faithful fathers knew. ! 

Give strength the evil to forsake, I 

The cross of Truth to bear, j 

And love and reverent fear to make j 

Our daily lives a prayer! 



jr4 Penn sails for America, 

William Penn's mother lived to see her son's 
experiment shadowed forth, but not to witness 
its consummation. She died early in 1682. This 
bereavement cast so deep a sorrow over his feelings, 
that for some time his health was affected. In 
writing to a friend he says, " Both thy letters came 
in a few days one of the other. My sickness on 
my mother's death, who was last Seventh-day in- 
terred, permitted me not to answer thee so soon as 
I desired." Lady Penn appears to have continued 
to live chiefly at Wanstead, from the time the 
family returned there, in 1659 or 1660, on leaving 
Ireland. Her remains were laid beside those of 
her son Richard in Walthamstow church. 

The pressing calls on Penn's attention which his 
approaching departure for America occasioned, 
soon drew him into active life. Beside royal char- 
ters, and provincial laws, and his plans for the new 
city, and municipal regulations, he had a vast deal 
of other work to do for the infant colony. At 
length all was ready, and he embarked at Deal on 
board the sliip Welcome^ in company with about 
one hundred passengers, who were mostly Friends 
from Sussex, and weighed anchor on the first of 
Seventh month, 1682. To trace his movements 
thenceforward through the wide-spread duties that 
devolved on him as Governor of Pennsylvania, can- 
not be attempted in a sketch like this. He had 
many difliculties to cope with, many wants to pro- 
vide for, and many sacrifices to make, lie made 



His letter to Jils cliUdren. 355 

these sacrifices without hesitation, and met all dif- 
ficulties with energy, perseverance, and patience. 
These circumstances are associated with the early 
history of Pennsylvania; but his feelings on leav- 
ing his wife and children, and his religious aspira- 
tions for them and his friends, are not equally 
known. It is therefore to them that we shall more 
es23ecially direct our attention. 

William Penn left home with so strong a sense 
of the danger and uncertainty attendant on the 
path which lay before him, that he made provision 
for his family as if he was never to see them again. 
On this occasion he addressed a long letter to his 
wife, in which he states his views respecting the 
education of their children ; whilst to them he 
speaks of their duties in early life as well as in 
mature age. He especially enjoins early devotion 
to God, and earnestness in serving Him on earth, 
adding, ''Love and fear the Lord, keep close to 
meetings, and delight to wait on the Lord God of 
your father and mother among His despised people, 
as we have done. Count it your honour to be 
members of that society, and heirs of that living 
fellowship which is enjoyed among them, and for 
the experience of which your father's soul blesseth 
the Lord for ever. 

" Next, be obedient to your dear mother, a 
woman whose virtue and good name is an honour 
to you. She hath been exceeded by none in her 
time for her plainness, integrity, industry, human- 



35^ Pernios letter to his vnfe. 

ity, virtue, and good understanding — qualifica- 
tions not usual among women of her condition and 
quality. Therefore honour and obey her, my dear 
children, as your mother; and as your father's 
love and delight. She loved 3'our father with a 
deep and upright love, choosing him before all her 
many suitors. Though she be of a delicate consti- 
tution and noble spirit, yet she descended to the 
utmost care and tenderness for you in your infancy 
as a mother and as a nurse, performing for you the 
most painful acts of service. I charge you before 
the Lord to honour and obey, love and cherish 
}'our dear mother." 

The following' extract from the letter to his wife 
shows how highly he appreciated her, and that his 
ideas respecting the training of children were far 
in advance of the age in which he lived : — 

" My dear wife, 

'^ Remember thou wast the love 
of my youth, and much the joy of my life — the 
most beloved as well as the most worthy of all my 
earthly comforts ; and the reason of that love was 
more thy inward than thy outward excellencies, 
which yet were many. God knows and thou know- 
est I can say it Avas a match of His making ; and 
God's image in us both was the first thing, and the 
most amiable and engaging ornament in our ej'es. 
Now I am to leave thee, and that witliout kno^ving 



PeniLS Idter to Ids loife. 357 

V, lietlier I shall ever see thee more in this world. 
T;ike my counsel into thy bosom, and let it dwell 
with thee in my stead while thou livest. 

'' Firstly. — Let the fear of the Lord and zeal and 
love for His glory dwell • richly in thy heart, and 
thou wilt watch for good over thyself and thy 
dear children and famih^ 

"Secondly. — Be diligent in meetings for worship 
and business ; stir up thyself and others therein ; it 
is thy duty and place. Let meetings be kept once 
a day in the family, to wait upon the Lord who 
has given us so much time for ourselves. And, my 
dearest, to make thy family matters easy, divide 
thy time and be regular. Grieve not thyself with 
careless servants ; rather pay them and "let them 
go, if they will not be better by admonition. 

" Thirdly. — Cast up thy income, and see what it 
daily amounts to, by which thou mayest have it iu 
thy sight to keep within compass. I beseech thee 
to live low and sparingly till my debts are paid ; 
and then enlarge as thou seest convenient. Ke- 
member thy mother's example, wdien thy father's 
public-spiritedness had worsted his estate, which is 
my case. I knoAV thou art averse to the pomps of 
the world — a nobility natural to thee. I write not 
;is doubtful, but to quicken thee for my sake, know- 
ing that God will bless thy care. I need not bid 
thee to be humble, for thou art so; nor meek and 
patient, for it is thy natural disposition : but I pray 
thee bo oft in retirement with the Lord, and guard 



2^0 Pciriis letter to his v'lfe. 

against encroacliing friendships [of the world] ; keep 
them at arm's end. 

^' Fourtlihj. — And now, my dearest, let me com- 
mend to thy care my dear children ; abundantly 
beloved by me, as the Lord's blessings, and the 
sweet pledges of our mutual and endeared affec- 
tion. Above all things, endeavour to bring them 
up in the love of virtue, and in that holy plain way 
of it which we have lived in, that the world in no 
part of it get into my family. I had rather they 
were homely than finely bred as to outward be- 
haviour ; 3^et I love sweetness mixed with gravity, 
and cheerfulness tempered with sobriety. Religion 
in the heart leads into true civility, teaching men 
and women to be mild and courteous in their be- 
haviour. 

^'Fifthly. — Bring them up in love of one another. 
Tell them it is the charge I left behind me, and 
that it is the way to have the love and blessing of 
God to rest upon them. Sometimes separate 
them, but not long ; and allow them to give and 
send each other small things, to endear one another 
with. Once more I say, tell them how it was my 
counsel that they should be tender and affectionate 
one to another. For their learning be liberal. 
Spare no cost — for by such parsimony all is lost 
that is saved — but let it be useful knowledge they 
are taught, such as is consistent with truth and 
godliness. The exercise of ingenuity mixed w^ith 
industry is good for the body and mind too. I 



Peiiits letter to Margaret Fox. 2S9 

recommend the useful parts of mathematics, build- 
ing houses or ships, measuring, surveying, dialling, 
and navigation. But agriculture is especially in 
my eye. Rather keep an ingenious person in tiie 
house to teach them than send them to schools. 
Be sure to observe their genius, and do not cross 
it ; let them not dwell too long on one thing, but 
make an agreeable change before they become 
weary. Let all their diversions have some little 
bodily labour in them." 

The above letter was dated Worminghurst, 4tli 
of Sixth-month, 1682. 

The following is addressed to Margaret Fox of 
Swarthmoor Hall, wife to his friend George Fox, 
wdio was then at Enfield near London. The ori- 
ginal is in the possession of Silvanus Thompson, 
York. 

William Penn to Margaret Fox, 

a Yery dearly honoured and beloved M. F. 

" In the precious love of God I salute 
thee, that by which He hath made us who were 
once strangers to the Lord and to one another, 
very near and very dear; and most sweet is our 
fellowship. Oh ! that the nations knew it well ! 
They shall yet know it, and rejoice in the salva- 
tion that is come to us. 

" Dear Margaret, I am a-going. Remember me 



360 Penns letter to xilarjaret Fox. 

in the Father's love, and nuij God be with thee, 
and bless thee and thine, with His temporal and 
His eternal blessings. This day I have had a 
precious meeting w'ith the Friends of this city ; 
many public Friends being there. Oh ! the dissolv- 
ing love of God ! — all tender, meek, and loving. 
May God be wdth us all forever, staying or going ! 
To thee, dear Margaret, and dear Thomas Lower 
and yours, this is my tender farewell in the Lord. 
(I pray Him to) let all things be and prosper with 
me, as mine eye is to be of service to the Lord in 
this thing. Some have been unkind, but my soul 
breathes for them and forgives them; and truly 
n peace flows as a river. Oh ! dear Margaret, 
ih y the Lord be with us, and keep us in our 
several places, and do us good forever. Dear 
George I left yesterday at Enfield, much better. 
My soul loves him beyond [expression], and his 
dear love and care and counsel are in my heart. ' 
A sw^eet parting we had. So, dear Margaret and 
dear Thomas Lower, let me hear from you, that I 
may rejoice in your love. I have nought else to 1 
add but my wife's dear love, w^ho is sweetly con- 
senting and satisfied. 

" Thy very loving friend and brother, 

" Wm. Penn. I 

"London, ]4th of Gtli mo. 1682. i 

i 
j 

''Thy daughter and son Rous are well. She and 
daughter went and came with us to and from En- 



Penns letter to Stephen Cjisjj. j6i 

field. Salute me to dear Leonard Fell and Ko!jcrt 
Withers, and friends thereaway." 

He published three other letters under the title 
of William Penns Last Farewell to Engkmd. 
They were dated from on board the Welcome, 
whilst lying in the Downs, 30th of Sixth-month, 
1682. The first is A Salutation to the Faithful; | 
the second, A Re-proof to the Unfaithful ; and the I 
third, A Visitation to the Inquiring. All three 
manifest earnest religious feeling, and contain ex- 
hortation and advice suited to the various states 
addressed. Under the same date, which was the 
day before the Welcome weighed anchor, he also ! 
wrote to his friend Stephen Crisp. One passage 
of that letter is as follows : — 

I 
" Dear Stephen, 

We know one another. I need not 
say much to thee ; but this I will say, that thy 
parting dwells with me, or rather thy love at my j 
parting. How innocent, how tender, how like the 1 
little child that has no guile ! The Lord will j 
bless that ground (Philadelphia). I have also had ; 
a letter from thee which comforted me ; for many 
are my trials, yet not more than my supplies from \ 
my Heavenly Father, whose glory I seek. And ] 
surely, Stephen, there is work enough to be done, 
and room to work in. Surely God will come in for 
a share in this planting- work, and that leaven shall 



-7 62 Pants arrlcdl lit America. 



1( a\en tlie lump in time. I do no not believe the 
Lord's providence had run this way towards me, 
but that He has an heavenly end and service in it. 
S J with Him I leave all, and myself, and thee, and 
His dear people." 

Thus committing all to God, and strong in foith 
and hope, the Governor of Pennsylvania bade fixre- 
well to his family and friends, as the Welcome bore 
him from the shores of his native land. 

The voyage was made in about eight weeks, 
which was then considered a good passage. But, 
whilst crossing the Atlantic, thirty of the emi- 
grants who had sailed from the Downs died of the 
small-pox. The survivors, as long as they lived, 
had many a tale to tell of that sad passage, of 
William Penn's care and tenderness towards the 
sick, and his comforting exhortations and prayers 
with those who died on board. 

Business cares and studies soon gathered around 
him, into which he entered with that administrative 
capacity and dispatch for which he Avas remarkable. 
Amid all these, the grand features of nature in the 
New World failed not to impress his imagination, 
and draw forth lively descriptions in his letters home. 
The woods, the flowers, the shrubs, and the native 
fruits of Pennsylvania were most charming to him. 
The site of his new city was a continual source 
of interest and occupation, whilst emigrants from 
Great Britain, Ireland, and Germany, were flocking 



Treaty loitli the Indians. 2^ 3 

to Pennsylvania as to a land of promised freedom 
and plenty. 

From Watsorts Annals we learn that the assem- 
bly to which Peini's frame of government and 
laws were submitted was held at Chester, three 
weeks after his arrival; and the first provincial 
assembly which was convened at Philadelphia, and 
was composed of seventy-two members, met in the 
Friends' meeting-house on the 10th of First-month, 
1683. The representatives were elected by ballot. 
Watson says that " the only law added to the pro- 
vincial code on that occasion was one enacted 
to prevent law-suits, by the institution (5f three 
' Peace-makers,' after the manner of ordinary arbi- 
tration, to be chosen by each county court, that 
they might hear and end all differences." This, 
like many others in the Pennsylvania code, was 
merely enacting as a law that which was an estab- 
lished rule of Quaker discipline ; for law-suits are 
discouraged among the Friends, arbitration being 
the substitute. 

But it was William Penn's treaty of peace and 
brotherhood with the Indians which especially 
marked his first visit to America ; and, beyond 
any other event in his career, has attracted the 
attention of the civilized world. Yet neither he 
nor the Friends associated with him were con- 
scious of doing anything more than what simple 
Christian morality and human brotherhood sug- 
gested. They had ignored all war and bloodshed 



364 Treaty ivlth tlte Indians. 

for the settlement of disputes, as contrary to the 
gospel of Christ. Therefore they went among 
the Indians unarmed. They were not satisfied 
with merely paying them for specified portions of 
the country which they desired to occupy, but 
they felt that these sons of the forest should be 
told why they came among them unlike the other 
colonists, — without weapons of war. 

The title of the Indians and their right to com- 
pensation had been repeatedly recognized from the 
time of the first settlement of the Friends in New 
Jersey — that therefore was not new. Nor was it, 
as many suppose, the design of William Penn at 
the time of the famous treaty to pay them all off 
hand, then and there, for their lands. On the 
contrary, there were various separate purchases 
made at different times and from different tribes 
who occupied different localities. It does not ap- 
pear that there was any purchase whatever in 
connection with the great treaty. Presents were 
given and speeches made on both sides, which 
embodied clearly defined promises of justice and 
peace, to the exclusion of all violence. In case of 
differences arising at any time, they were to be 
settled by arbitration ; the arbitrators, twelve in 
number, to be fairly chosen by the parties con- 
cerned — half to be Englishmen and half Indians. 
Although the Indians made stately and eloquent 
speeches in answer to William Penn, of their replies 



Treaty loWi tlie Indians. 2,^^ 

little s.eeins to have been preserved except their 
pledge " to live in love with Onas [Penn] and his 
children as long as the sun and moon shall endure." 
When the account of this treaty reached Europe 
most of her politicians awaited with sneering smiles 
the consummation they expected to follow. " Go- 
ing among the cruel Indian savages without arms, 
and pledging themselves never to use violence 
towards them ! What folly ! What madness !" 
But they waited and watched long^ and still no 
violence or bloodshed ensued. Whilst the sur- 
rounding colonists were ever and anon at war with 
the Indians, and the scalping-knife and tomahawk 
brought death and terror to many a hearth, the 
Quakers of Pennsylvania and all their possessions 
remained uninjured — 

Safe that quiet Eden lay, 

When the war whoop stirred the land ; 
Thence the Indian turned away 

From their homes his bh)ody hand. 

" He remembered the treaty with the sons of 
Onas, and kept it inviolate." The Friends of Penn- 
sylvania on their side acted truthfully and honestly 
towards the Redmen ; and the Indian people, even 
when at war with other English colonies, and when 
the original parties to the treaty had died off, re- 
garded the lives and property of the children of 
Onas as sacred. Such was the treaty of peace and 



^66 Treaty loltlt tlie Indians. 

amitj on which Voltaire remarked, that " it >vas the 
only one ever made without an oath, and the only 
one that never was broken." 

We are told of two purchases of land from the 
Indians in 1683, whilst William Penn remained in 
the province. They lay in different directions. As 
regards one of these, the extent of country paid for 
was to run as far back as a man could walk in 
three days. It is stated that Penn himself, with 
several of his friends and a number of the Indian 
chiefs, began to walk over this land at the mouth 
of the Neshaminy, and walked up the Delaware. 
They are described as having, in a day and a half, 
got to a spruce-tree near the mouth of Baker's 
Creek, when the Governor decided that this would 
include as much land as would be wanted at 
present. A line was then run, and marked from 
that spruce-tree to Neshaminy, and the remainder 
left to be walked out when it should be wanted for 
settlement. It is said they walked leisurely after 
the Indian manner, sitting down sometimes to 
smoke their pipes, to eat biscuit and cheese, and 
drink a bottle of wine. It is certain they arrived at 
the spruce-tree in a day and a half, the whole 
distance being rather less than thirty miles. 

Two years afterwards, when William Penn had 
n^turned to England, a purchase was made in 
another direction. A copy of the deed drawn up 
on this occasion is now before me, and I shall give 
it verijatiin. 



Deed of purchase. 367 

Copy of a Deed of Purcliase between William. Penn and the 
Indians in 1685. 



This Indenture witnesseth that we, Packenah, Jark- 
liam, Sikalls, Partquesott, Jervis, Essepenauk, Felktroy, 
Jlekcloppaw, Ecomer, Mackloha, Metthconga, Wissa, 
Po^ve3^ Indian kings, Sachemakers, right owners of all 
lands from Quing Quingus, called Duck Creek, unto Up- 
lands, called Chester Creek, all along hy the west side of 
Delaware River, and so betwx^en the saicl creeks back- 
wards as far as a man can ride in two days with a horse, for 
and in consideration of these following goods to us in hand 
})aid and secured, to be paid by William Penn, proprietary 
and governor of the province of Pennsylvania, and territory 
thereof, viz, 

20 guns, 20 fathoms match-coat, 20 fathoms strong 
water, 20 blankets, 20 kettles, 20 pounds powder, 100 bars 
of lead, 40 tomahawks, 100 knives, 40 pairs of stockings, 1 
barrel of beer, 20 pounds red lead, 100 fathoms of wam- 
pan, 30 glass bottles, 30 pewter spoons, 100 awl blades, 
300 tobacco pipes, 100 kinds of tobacco, tobacco tongs, 
20 steels, 300 flints, 30 pairs scissors, 30 combs, 60 looking- 
glasses, 200 needles, 1 skipper of salt, 30 pounds of sugar, 
5 gallons of molasses, 20 tobacco boxes, 100 jewsharps, 
20 hoes, 30 gimlets, 30 wooden screw boxes, 100 strings of 
beads. 

Do hereb}^ acknowledge, etc. 

Given under our hands at Newcastle 2nd day 
of 8th month, 1685. 

[The above is a true copy taken from the original by 
Epiiraim Morton,* of Washington County, Penns^dvania, 
formerly a clerk in the Land Office.] 

"•■■ I am indebted for this document to a Friend in Rochdale, in whose 
family it has been for upwards of fifty years. 



368 Elhoood and Justice Fotlterhj. 

The Indians as well as the colonists were at 
liberty still to hunt over all the lands which were 
sold to the Governor, so long as they were not in- 
closed with fences or walls that would keep out the 
deer. 

It has been already stated that Mary Pening- 
ton visited her daughter at Worminghurst, and 
died there two weeks after William Penn sailed 
for America. We next hear of Gulielma Penn 
through her friend Thomas Ell wood, who in 1683 
was brought into some difficulty about a book he 
had published. The work got into the hands of 
Sir Benjamin Tichbourne of Rickmansworth, who 
on reading it inferred that the author had some 
covert designs to serve, and made it a matter of 
serious examination. Another magistrate, Justice 
Fotherly, uniting with Tichbourne, demanded a 
searching investigation, and appointed a day when 
the author was bound to appear. 

In the mean time, before that day arrived, an 
announcement reached Thomas Ellwood from Wor- 
minghurst, that his friend Guli Penn was very ill, 
aiid wished to see him. He hastened first to 
Justice Fotherly, and explained to him that 
it would greatly oblige him if the examination of 
his book could be proceeded with that morning, so 
as to permit him to go into Sussex to see his friend 
William Penn's wife. At the same time he staled 
that she was dangerously ill, and had sent an ex- 
press requesting that he wouhi lose no time in 



EUwood and the Ma^jJ strafes. 369 

giving to her ; as he had been her intimate friend 
from childhood. 

Ellwood says, " While I thus delivered myself, 
I observed a sensible alteration in the justice ; and 
when I had done speaking, he first said he was very 
sorry for Madam Penn's illness, of whose virtues 
and worth he spoke very highly, but not more than 
was her due. Then he told me that for her sake he 
would do what he could to further my visit to her. 
'' But," said he, " I am only one, and of myself can 
do nothing in it. Therefore you must go to Sir 
Benjamin Tich bourne, and see if you can prevail 
with him to meet me now." He did so, and ex- 
plained the occasion of his visit. Both he and his 
lady, who was present, expressed great concern for 
Guli Penn's illness. Ultimately the justices al- 
lowed him to go, desiring him " to give their 
hearty respects and service to Madam Penn, with 
good wishes for a good journey." Having reached 
Worminghurst pretty early next morning, he found 
his friend in a hopeful state and daily improving, 
so that after a little time he returned home. 

In the Wycombe manuscript collection of Ell- 
wood's poems are the following unpublished lines, 
dated Fifth month, 1683, which were written about 
this time. 

24 



370 Letter from GnUelma Penn 

TO MY FRIEND IN AMERICA. 

I env}' not nor grudge the sweet content 

I hope thou takest under thy shady tree, 
Where many an hour is innocentl}'- spent, 

Erom vexing cares, from noise, and tumult free, 
Where godly meetings are not riots made, 
Nor innocents by stratagems betrayed. 

But, for mine own part, I expect not yet 

Such peaceful days — such quiet times to see ; 
My station in a troublous world is set. 
And dail}" trials still encompass me ; 

This is my comfort, that my God is near 
To give me courage, and my spirit cheer. 

The blustering winds blow hard, the foaming seas 

Raise their proud waves, the surging billows swell ; 
No human art this tempest can appease ; 

He's only safe who with the Lord doth dwell. 
Though storms and violence should yet increase, 
In Him there is security and peace. 

The following letter is from Gulielma Penn :— 
To Margaret Fox. 

Worminghurst, 2nd 6th mo. 1G84. 

" Dear friend M. F. 

In a sense of that love and 
life by which we are united to God and made near 
one unto another, I salute thee. And, dear Mar- 
garet, I cannot express the sense I have of thy love 
and reiiard to me and mv dear husband ; but it is 



to Margaret Fox. 371 

often before me with very great returns of love and 
affection, and desires for thy prosperity and preser- 
vation among God's people. I should be exceed- 
ingly glad if it were my lot once more to see thy 
flice, but at present I see little likelihood. Yet 
methinks, if thou foundest a clearness, it would be 
happier if thou wert nearer thy dear husband and 
children, but I leave it to the Lord's ordering and 
thy freedom. 

" There have been great reports of my husband 
coming with J. Purvis, A. Parker's brother-in-law ; 
but he has returned without him, and brought 
letters. My husband was then very well on the 8th 
of the Fourth-month, and has some thoughts of 
coming, but when he did not mention. This puts a 
stop at present to my going ; but with the Lord I 
desire to leave It, and commit him and myself to 
His holy ordering. 

"I truly rejoice to hear thou art so well, and 
thy daughters, and their children, and that Thomas 
Lower had a little time to see them. I perceive 
they are bad about you, and that thy sufferings are 
large ; but the Lord can, and I believe will, make 
it up. In Him is thy great reward for thy mani- 
fold exercises. They begin to be troublesome in 
this country also. They have not yet been here, 
but threaten it, they say. 

" I desire my very dear love to thy son and 
daughter Lower, and to thy son and daughter 



37^ Letter from William Pen 

Abraham. We are all pretty well, I bless the 
Lord. 

^' Thy truly loving and affectionate friend, 

" GuLi Penn." 

While Guli was writing the ahove, her husband 
was crossing the ocean on his return home. His 
arrival in England was announced to their vene- 
rated friend at Swarthmoor Hall in the following 
letter : — 

William Penn to Margaret Fox. 

''London, 22nd, 8th mo. 1684. 

" Dear M. Fox, 

'' Whom my heart loveth and lionour- 
eth in the Lord, remembering thee in the ancient 
love and path of life which is most glorious in mine 
eyes ; yea, excellent above all visible things. Dear 
Margaret, herein it is I enjoy the fellowship of thy 
spirit above time and distance, floods, and many 
waters. 

" It is now a few days above three weeks since I 
arrived well in my native land. It was within 
seven miles of my own house that we landed. I 
found my dear wife and her children well, to the 
overcoming of my heart because of the mercies of 
the Lord to us. I have not missed a meal's meat 
or a night's rest since I went out of the country, 
and wonderfully hath the Lord preserved me 
through many troubles in the settlements I have 
made, both as to the government and the soil. I 



to Mar(jaret Fux. 373 

find many wrong stories let in of nie, even by some 
I love; but, blessed be the Lord, they are the 
effects of envy, for things are sweetly well with 
Friends there, and many grow in wisdom. And 
in the outward things they increase finely. The 
love of divers Friends, especially those of Lanca- 
shire and Cheshire, was to thee. Our meetings are 
blessed, and I think there are eighteen in number 
in the province. Poor C. Hurst and brother died 
soon after arrival. Fixing on a low marshy place, 
for the river's sake, (though a dry bank was not a 
stone's cast from them,) they had agues and fevers, 
but no seasoning in any other settlement. 

" My dear wife relates thy great love to her in 
my absence, and so she also wrote me word, which 
affected my heart and soul. I return thee my ten- 
der acknowledgment. My salutation is to thy dear 
children, and to Thomas Camm, Leonard Fell, and 
other faithful brethren. 

" I have seen the King and the Duke. They 
and their nobles were very kind to me, and I hope 
the Lord will make way for me in their hearts, in 
order to serve His suffering people as well as my 
own interest. 

^' I shall be glad to hear of thy well being, and 
am with much affection thy faithful friend and 
brother in the Truth. 

" William Penn."* 



* The originals of the two foregoing letter;-; arc in the Thirnheck 
collections of old MSS., Briitoi. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

1684-1693. 

William Penn's difficulties about the boundary line of his province. — 
His outlay without due return. — His influence with James II.— 
Is accused of being a Jesuit. — His correspondence with Dr. Tilotson. 
— William Penn at Chester during the King's progress. — King James 
driven from the Throne. — The Prince and Princess of Orange invited 
to assume the Crown. — William Penn suspected of treasonable corres- 
pondence with the exiled James II. — Letter from Gulielma Maria 
Penn to Margaret Fox. — Death of George Fox. — William Penn 
arrested. — Examined before the King and Privy Council. — Is im- 
prisoned. — His writings during his seclusion. — His province seques- 
trated. — Confiscation of his Irish estates. — Is restored to liberty. — 
Death of Gulielma Penn. 

When William Penn left Pennsylvania in the 
autumn of 1684, he expected to return with his 
wife and family, as soon as he could secure from 
the King and those concerned a definite settlement 
of the boundary line between his province and that 
of Lord Baltimore. But, in the winter of that year 
Charles II. died. Nothing had been effectually 
settled on the matter in question before that event, 
and hence the Governor of Pennsylvania was com- 
pelled to remain and watch for an opportunity to 
obtain a decision. 

It will be seen by the letter in last chapter from 
374 



WlUium Pcniis domestic eco)io\ny. 375 

Gulielma Penn to Margaret Fox, that the thought 
of her going to her husband in America had been 
before them, and she seemed most anxious to carry 
out his wishes. To live in PhiLadelphia, his own 
city, the birthplace and home of religious freedom, 
the beau ideal of his own creation, the spot on 
earth of all others in which his brightest hopes 
were centred, was from first to last the desire of 
"William Penn. He says, in a letter to Thomas 
Lloyd, dated 16th of First-month, 1685, "Keep up 
the people's hearts and love. I hope to be with 
them next fall, if the Lord prevent not. I long to 
be with you; no temptations prevail to fix me here." 
Certainly, there was nothing to ^^ him, but much 
to delay him. The fall came and passed away, 
but no settlement of the boundary was obtained. 
Again, when writing to Pennsjdvania, he says, 
'^ We are all well through the Lord's mercy, and 
long to be with you, especially the children." 

William Penn and his wife had systematically 
contracted their family expenditure, so as to allow 
as much as possible of their private income being 
applied to the expenses incident to the planting of 
a new colony, and the establishment of a new city. 
Most of the colonists were able working people ; 
others took considerable property with them ; so 
that the Governor did not calculate that the de- 
mand on his purse would be so long continued as 
it eventually was. His nature was so generous, so 
unoclfish, that whilst his attention was absorbed in 



9 "6 TJic hoaiidanj qacstlon. 

plans for the accommodation and prosperity of the 
settlers, he was liable to forget that much of what 
he laid out would never be returned to him. The 
sense of justice of corporate bodies, composed of 
settlers of every creed and class, was not in his ab- 
sence always to be relied upon, and of this he was 
sometimes made painfully conscious. He remon- 
strated when each returning vessel brought call 
after call for money, bill after bill to be paid by the 
Governor. At length, in 1686, he peremptorily or- 
dered that he be not drawn on for another penny ; 
being then, as he stated, £5,000 in debt on their 
behalf; and no supplies, no quit rents, coming to 
him to help to clear it off. Writing to his agent he 
says, " If I cannot be supplied, I resolve to turn 
over a new leaf There is nothing my soul breathes 
more for in this world, next to my dear family's 
life, than that I may see poor Pennsylvania again, 
and my wife has given up to go." 

But it was long before the boundary question 
was even partially adjusted. ,Lord Baltimore, him- 
self a Roman Catholic, with many friends at court, 
was determined not to yield to William Penn's sug- 
gestions, whilst the latter was too sensible'^f the 
importance of a settlement to the peace of the 
colonies to leave it undefined. In the mean time 
there were other affiiirs of great interest which 
claimed his attention. When the late King died, 
there were fourteen hundred Quakers Ijing in the 
prisons of England for conscience sake. To obtain 



Lord 2Iacaalays calumnies. jyy 

their freedom lie exerted himself to the utmost. 
But a full year elapsed before they were released ; 
then, by the King's proclamation, the prison doors 
were opened, and all who were confnied on account 
of their religion were allowed to walk forth as 
free men. It was not merely for those of his own 
society that Penn interposed to have such griev- 
ances removed as it was in the power of the King 
to prevent. The removal of every oppressive mea- 
sure was an absolute pleasure as well as a matter 
of conscience to him, whoever were the sufferers. 
Possessing more of King James's confidence than 
any one else outside the Romish pale, and more 
than most of those within it, he obtained mercy or 
justice for many a suppliant by his intercession. 

It was against this part of Penn's career that 
the late Lord Macaulay directed those calumnies 
which have been so ably refuted by Paget, Forster, 
Dixon, Janncy, and others. A clue to the paltry 
motive which inspired them will be found in a re- 
markable anecdote, related at page 108 of William 
Tallack's Friendhj Sl'ctclics of America. The poet 
Whittier refers to this subject with his wonted 
magnanimity in the following lines : — 

How vainly he laboured to sully Avith blame 

The white bust of Peiiu in the niche of his fame ! 

Self-will is seli-wounding, perversity blind, 

Oil himself fell the stain for the Quaker designed ! 

For the sake of his true-hearted fiither l)efore him, 

For the sake of the dear Quaker mother that bore him, 



378 Irnpatatlous (ujauhst WtUunn Penn. 

For the sake of his gifts and the works that outlive him, 
And his brave words for freedom, we freely forgive him ! 

Gerard Croese says that '' William Penn was the 
Quakers' sole patron at court, and on whom the 
hateful eyes of his enemies were intent. The King- 
loved him as a singular and entire friend, and often 
honoured him with his company in private, and 
that not for one but many hours together, delaying 
to hear the best of his peers at the same time 
waiting for an audience." This friendship for 
Penn was the brightest feature in the life of that 
unfortunate monarch. But of course such favour 
brought to the subject of it the inveterate envy of 
courtiers. As the King's measures and his religion 
became more and more odious to the nation, the 
ears of the people were open to every evil rumor 
that could be invented against those whom he 
favoured. It was declared that Penn was not 
merely a Papist, but a Jesuit in disguise. Con- 
scious of innocence, the victim of these calunniies 
was slow to regard them in any other light than as 
absurd slanders, which nobody who wished to knoAv 
tlie truth would believe. But when at length he 
was told that even Dr. Tillotson, afterwards Arch- 
bishop of Canterbury, who knew him and had 
regarded him as a friend, had been instrumental 
in circulating the report, he felt that he should no 
longer keep silent, and the following correspond- 
ence ensued : — 



William Pcnn to Dr. TlUut 



bOU. 



319 



William Pcnn to Dr. Tillotson. 

" Charing-cross, 22d 11th mo. 1685. 

" Worthy Friend, 

" Being told that Dr. Tillotson suspected 
me, and so reported me a Papist, — I think a Jesuit, 
— and being closely prest, I take the liberty to ask 
thee if any such reflection fell from thee ? If it 
did, I am sony one I esteemed ever the first of his 
robe should so undeservedly stain me, fo'r so I call 
it. And if the story be false, I am sorry they 
should so abuse Dr. Tillotson as well as mj^self, 
without cause. I add no more but that I abhor 
two principles in religion, and pity those that own 
them. The first is obedience upon authority witli- 
out conviction ; and the other, tJie destroying them 
that differ from me for God's sake. Such religion 
is without judgment, though not without teeth. 
Union is best, if right ; else charity : and, as 
Hooker said, the time will come when a few words 
spoken with meekness, humility, and love, shall 
be more acceptable than volumes of controversies, 
which commonly destroy charity, the very best 
part of true religion. I mean not a charity that 
can change with all, but bear all, as I can Dr. Til- 
lotson in what he dissents from me ; and in this 
reflection, too, if said ; which is not yet believed 
by thy Christian and true friend, 

"William Pexx\." 



2'So Dr. T'dlotsou to WlUlaui Penn. 

Dr. Tillotson to William Penn. 

"Honoured Sir, 

" The demand of your letter is very 
just and reasonable, and the manner of it very 
kind : therefore, in answer to it, be pleased to take 
the following account. 

. " The last time you did me the favour to see me 
at my house, I did, according to the freedom 
I always use where I profess any friendship, ac- 
quaint you with something I had heard of a cor- 
respondence you held with some at Rome, and 
particularly with some of the Jesuits there. At 
which you seemed a little surprised; and, after 
some general discourse about it, you said you 
would call on me some other time, and speak 
further of it. Since that time I never saw you 
but by accident and in passage, when I thought 
you always declined me, particularly at Sir Wil- 
liam Jones's chamber, which was the last time I 
think I saw you ; upon which occasion I took 
notice to him of your strangeness to me, and told 
what I thought might be the reason of it, and 
that I was sorry for it, because I had a particular 
esteem of your parts and temper. The same I 
believe I have said to some others, but to whom I 
do not so particularly remember. Since 3'our 
going to Pennsylvania I never thought more of it, 
till lately, being in some company, one of them 
pressed me to declare whether I liad not heard 



Dr. TUlotsou to William Feim. 381 

something of you which had satisfied me that you 
Avere a Papist. I answered, 'No! by no means.' I 
told him what I had heard, and what I had said to 
you, and of the strangeness that ensued upon it ; 
but that this never went further with me than to 
make me suspect there was more in tliat re})ort 
which I heard than I was at first willing to believe; 
and that if any made more of it, I should looJ| 
upon him as very injurious both to Mr. Penn anct 
myself. 

"This is the truth of that matter; and whenever 
you will satisfy me that my suspicion of the truth 
of that report I had heard was groundless, I will 
heartily l^eg your pardon for it. I do fully concur 
with you in ahliorrence of the tioo principles you 
mention, and in your approbation of that excellent 
saying of Mr. Hooker, for which I shall ever highly 
esteem him. I have endeavoured to make it one 
of the governing principles of my life, never to 
abate anything of humanity or charity to any man 
for his difference from me in opinion, and parti- 
cularly to those of your persuasion, as several of 
them have had experience. I have been ready on 
all occasions to do them offices of kindness, being 
truly sorry to see them so hardly used; and though 
I thought them mistaken, yet in the main I be- 
lieved them to be very honest. I thank you for 
your letter, and have a just esteem of the Christian 
temper of it, and rest your faithful friend, 

'^'JOIIN TiLLOTSON." 



382 WUlldm Poin to Dr. TlUotfion. 

William Penn to Dr. Tillotson. 

"Cliariug-cross, 2Tth 2n(l month, 1686. 

" Worthy Friend, 

"Having a much less opinion of my own 
memory than of Dr. Tillotson's truth, I will allow 
the fact, though not the jealousy : for, besides that 
l^cannot look strange when I am well used, I have 
ever treated the name of Dr. Tillotson with regard. 
I might be grave and full of my own business ; but 
my nature is not harsh, my education less, and my 
principles least of all. It was the opinion I had of 
the doctor's moderation, simplicity, and integrity, 
rather than his parts or post, that always made 
me set a value on his friendship) ; of them perhaps 
I am a better judge, leaving the others to men of 
deeper talents. I blame him nothing, but leave it 
to his own better thoughts, if in my affair his jea- 
lousy was not too nimble for his charity. I should 
hardly have endured the same thought of Dr. 
Tillotson on the like occasion, and less to speak 
of it. 

" For the Roman correspondence I come freely 
to confession. I have not only no such thing with 
any Jesuit at Rome (though Protestants may have 
without offence) but I hold none with any Jesuit 
priest or regular in the world of that communion. 
And I know not one any where, and yet I am a 
Catholic, though not a Roman. I have feeling for 
mankind, and do re not deny others what I crave 



William Penn to Dr. TlUotson. 383 

for myself, I mean lil^ertj for the exercise of mj 
religion ; thinking faith, piety, and providence bet- 
ter security than force. 

" Dr. Tillotson may be confident I am no Roman 
Catholic, but a Christian whose creed is the Scrip- 
tures of Truth, of which I hold a nobler evidence 
chan the best church authority in the world." 
[Penn goes on to recommend Dr. Tillotson, in order 
clearly to understand his views, to read his Address 
to Protestcods, from, page 133 to the end; and to 
the first four chapters of his No cross. No crown. 
These he thought should convince him how far 
away he was from papacy] "to say nothing of 
our most unceremonious and unworldly way of wor- 
ship, and their pompous cidt ;' adding, "'Here I 
shall leave the business, with all due acknowledg- 
ments of thy friendly temper, and assurance of the 
sincere good wishes and respects of thy affectionate 
and real friend, 

• "William Penn." 

After the receipt of the aljove letter. Dr. Tillot- 
son appears to have waited on William Penn to 
apologise, and to express his entire conviction of 
Penn's views having been misrepresented. How- 
ever, that did not prevent the public from continu- 
ing to say that the doctor believed him to be a 
Papist, and a letter had even been placed in his 
hand reiterating the statement. This he forwarded 
to the Doctor, requesting him to state in writing 



384 i)y. TUlotron to Vuiliam Pcup. 

the suj^stance of what he had said verbally, which 
produced the following reply. 



Dr. Tillotson to William Penn, 

''April 29th, 1686 



" Sir, 



"I am very sorry that the suspicion I 
had entertained concerning you, of which I gave 
you the true account in my former letter, hath oc- 
casioned so much trouble and inconvenience to 
you ; and 1 do now declare with great joy that I 
am fully satisfied there w\as no just ground for that 
suspicion, and therefore do heartily beg your par- 
don for it. And ever since you were pleased to 
give me that satisfaction, I have taken all occasions 
to vindicate you in this matter ; and shall be ready 
to do it to the person that sent you the enclosed, 
whenever he will please to come to me. I will 
take the first opportunity to visit you at Charing- 
cross and renew our acquaintance, in which I took 
great pleasure. 

" I rest your faithful friend, 

"John Tillotson." 

When such a man as Tillotson could be so far 
misled by popular gossip as to suspect William 
Penn of being a Roman Catholic, or favorable to 
their doctrines, and to repeat that apprehension, we 
need not wonder that shallow thinkers and jealous 



Penns influence at Court. 385 

courtiers would go still further. It is evident, 
however, that when Tillotson was questioned on 
the subject he was candid, and honourably and 
gladly acknowledged his error when the matter w^as 
clearly explained. But William Penn was more 
than candid : his was the conduct of the true 
Christian, who " sufFereth long and is kind ;" — " is 
not easily provoked, thinketh no evil, rejoice th not 
in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth." 

In the letter to James Harrison, his steward at 
Pennsbury, in 1687, he says, "As yet I cannot get 
clear, for besides that I am not in my private 
affairs fit to remove for a stay as that I intend 
when I come there, I am engaged in the public 
business of the nation ; and Friends and others in 
authority would have me see the establishment of 
the liberty that I was a small instrument to begin 
in this land. The Lord has given me great en- 
trance with the King, though not so much as 'tis 
said, and I confess I should rejoice to see poor 
England fixt and the penal laws repealed that are 
now suspended ; and if it goes well with England, 
it cannot go ill with Pennsylvania. Unkindly used 
as I am, no poor slave in Turkey desires more 
earnestly I believe for deliverance, than I do to be 
w^itli you ; therefore be contented for a while, and 
God in his time will bring us together." 

Again he writes, " 8th of Seventh-month, 1687. 
I am straitened for time, being just come home 
from the King s progress through Berkshire, Glou- 
25 



386 King James s '-' Declaration ^ 

cestershire, Shropshire, Cheshire, Hampshire, and 
so home. I had two meetings on a First-day at 
Chester in the tennis court, where were about a 
thousand people, while the King was there." 

This is the King's visit to Chester, and William 
Penn's meeting mentioned in the diary of Dr. Cart- 
wright, Bishop of Chester, recently published by 
the Camden Society, wherein he says of King 
James, " He went to his devotions in the shire 
hall, and Mr. Penn held forth in the tennis-court, 
and I preached in the cathedral." William Penn 
held large meetings in various places, as he moved 
along Avith the royal party, as at Bristol ; and at 
Chew in Somersetshire, where the people assem- 
bled in the open air, there being no building 
sufficient to contain the crowds. 

In the spring of the year 1688 King James 
put forth his Declaration for universal liberty of 
conscience, and the suspension of the test act. 
Together with this was published an order of coun- 
cil, requiring the clergy to read the declaration in 
their churches. This order was extremely offen- 
sive to those of the Established Church. " They 
disapproved of the measure, as being in their view 
calculated to subvert the Protestant religion ; but 
the chief ground on which they opposed it, w^as the 
unpopular prerogative claimed by the King to dis- 
pense with or suspend at his pleasure the laws of 
the realm." The Archbishop of Canterbury and 
six other bishops addressed him, respectfully ex- 



cvnd deposition. '3^1 

plaining to him the reasons for which they could 
not comply with his command, and they were 
fortliAvith sent to the Tower. On that occasion 
William Penn exerted all his influence and power 
of persuasion to induce the King to liberate them, 
but he utterly failed. However, they were soon 
brought to trial, and triumphantly acquitted. 

It was well known that Penn was opposed to 
the tests which excluded all dissenters from par- 
liament. He had written against them in a work 
entitled Qood Advice to the ClvwrcJi of Emjland. 
Though printed anonymously^, the authorship was 
known, and he suffered public odium accordingly. 
The national indignation was aroused, and was not 
again to be appeased by King James. In the 
autumn of 1688 the throne was declared vacant, 
and the Prince and Princess of Orange were in- 
vited to take possession of it. 

William Penn might then have returned to 
Pennsylvania had he chosen to do so ; but he well 
knew that such a step would be interpreted unfa- 
vourably, and he therefore remained to brave the 
storui. He was soon placed under arrest, and, 
after being most scrutinizingly examined, nothing 
could be brought against him which would war- 
rant his detention. Again and again, as each fresh 
faljrication was prepared by his enemies, he was 
brought before the council, but still nothing could 
be proved. His truthful transparent answers cai'- 
ricd conviction to the minds of all who were not 



388 Pernios letter to Ids council. 

influenced by bitter party spirit. '^ His manly 
avowal," says Janney, '' of his continued friendship 
for the exiled King, who had been his own and his 
father's friend, was in accordance with his candid 
and noble character, but in striking contrast with 
the conduct of some who then frequented the court 
of the reigning monarch." 

As the year 1689 waned, there seemed nothing 
to prevent the Governor of Pennsylvania from re- 
turning to his province in the ensuing autumn. 
He had always kept up a regular correspond- 
ence with his provincial council as a body, 
and with several of the chief officers of the 
State, in order to maintain good feeling and 
a sense of his authority among them. One 
of his letters written about this time to the 
council, which Avas composed of Quakers, con- 
cludes thus : — 

" And now, Friends, I have a word more to you. 
It is this; that faith, hope, and charity, are the 
great helps and marks of true Christians ; but, 
above all, charity, divine love. Blessed arc they 
that are come to it, and hold the Truth in it, and 
work and act in it. Poor indeed they are in their 
own spirit, but rich in God's. Oh ! come into this 
love more and more ; it will preserve peace in the 
Church, peace in the state, peace in families, aye, 
and peace in particular bosoms. God Almighty 
draw, I beseech him, all your hearts into this hea- 



GMielma Perm to Margaret Fox, 389 

venly love more and more, that the work of it may 
shine out to God's glory and your comfort. 

" For matters here, as to myself, I am well and 
free, and for the church of God liberty continues. 
But in the nations of Europe great wars and ru- 
mours of w^ars. 

'' I am, in the Truth which makes us near to 
God and one to another, your faithful friend and 
brother, 

" William Penn." 

The letter which follows has the date of 1690, 
as an endorsement; and there is reason to infer 
that it was written in the spring of that year. 
With the exception of one in the preceding chap- 
ter it is the only letter from Gulielma Maria Penn 
that I have ever seen. 



To Margaret Fox. 

" Dear and honourable friend, M. F. 

" With salutations of true, constant, faith- 
ful love is my heart filled to thee. I feel it in that 
which is beyond words — in the unity of the spirit 
of Truth. 

'• It rises in my mind, as I am writing, something 
that I saw concerning thee in my sleep long ago — 
about the time of the beginning of these bad spirits. 
I thought I saw thee and dear George and many 
Friends in a meeting, where the power of the Lord 



390 G id Id ma Penn to Margaret Fox. 

was greatly manifested; and methought there came 
in dark wicked spirits, and they strove exceedingly 
against the [Divine] life that was in the meeting. 
Their chief aim was at thee and George, but mostly 
at thee. They strove to hurt thee, but, methought, 
thou gottest so over them that i\\Qy could not touch 
thee, but only tore some little part of thy clothes, 
and thou escaped unhurt. Then a sweet rejoicing 
and triumph spread throughout the meeting. That 
dream was long ago, and the Lord has so brought 
it to pass that thy life now reigns over them all. 
It was thee they began with, but the Lord has 
given and will [further] give thee the victory, to 
the joy and comfort of thy people. 

" Dear Margaret, I received thy acceptable letter 
long since, but have delayed writing to thee, in the 
hope to give a fuller account of m.j husband and 
of our going. But the winter and spring have been 
so severe that letters have been hindered ; and now 
that many are come, none of them of late dates are 
for me, because my husband has been in daily ex- 
pectation of seeing us there, and I am sorr}' for his 
disappointment. I should have been truly glad to 
have seen him before going, as thou sayest, but 
am contented, and desire not his coming merely to 
fetch us, as I know he has a great deal of business 
to attend to ; and also know it is not for want of 
true love or the desire to see us that keeps him, but 
it is that he must first mind the duties of the place 
in which he now stands, and do that which is right, 



Gidielwa Pemi to Margaret Fox. 391 

and in which he has peace. If the Lord gives 
clearness and drawings to come, I would be glad, 
but see no likelihood at present. 

" We have been much hindered, and are still, l)y 
reason of the Friend who does our business here 
being under some trouble ; having many years ago 
been bound for a man who is lately dead, and 
whose creditors are now coming on him ; so that I 
cannot depend on his remaining here, and know 
not where to get another that is fit to leave things 
to at present, which is a great strait to my mind ; 
my husband writing every letter for us. 

" I am truly refreshed in the remembrance of 
thee, and thy lines are very dear to me. I desire 
thy prayers to the Lord on our behalf, that He 
may attend us with his sweet and lieavenly pre- 
sence in our undertaking, and then it will be well 
with us, whether staying or going. 

" Dear Margaret, in a sense of this, and in true 
love I bid thee farewell, and am thy affectionate 
friend in my measure of the blessed Truth, 

" GuLi Penn." 

"P.S. — My very dear love salutes thy daughter 
Lower, whose sufferings I have a sense of. My 
love also to thy daughter and son Abraham, and 
to Isabel if with you."* 

■^ From Sylvanus Thompson's collection of MSS. 



2^2 Penn accused of trcascncJile 

The duties of the phice in which William Penn 
then stood required much wisdom, as his devoted 
wife well knew. But doing " that which Avas right, 
and in which he had peace," braught with it a hap- 
piness wdiich the world could not take away. 

Autumn came and went, but Gulielma and the 
children were still unable to visit their transatlantic 
home. Their cherished plans as to the time for 
leaving had been overruled, but that prospect was 
still before them, when, on the loth of Eleventh- 
month, 1690, William Penn was summoned to the 
deathbead of his honoured friend George Fox. In a 
letter of that night, addressed to the absent wddow 
of the deceased, he says : — " Thy dear husband 
and my beloved friend finished his glorious testi- 
mony this night. Oh ! he is gone and has left us 
with a storm over our heads ; surely in great mercy 
to him, but an evidence to us of sorrows coming." 

A storm was indeed gathering over their heads, 
and it soon burst. A man named Fuller, wdio 
hoped to be rewarded by those who wxre Penn's 
enemies, had under oath accused him of conspiring 
w^itli some others to invite the return of the deposed 
king. It is possible that, even while writing to 
Margaret Fox, he may have heard that some accu- 
sation had been got up against him. His words 
seem like it, and we are told that the guards sent 
to arrest him intended to have taken him prisoner 
wliile attending his friend's funeral; but, having 
mistaken the hour, they arrived too late. However, 



correspondence with James 11. 393 

they apprehended hhn afterwards, and he was 
brought for examination before the privy council. 
He begged to be taken before King WiUiam and 
questioned in his presence. This request was com- 
pHed with, and during the investigation which fol- 
lowed he admitted he had loved King James for 
the uniform kindness he had met with from him, 
and, having loved him in his prosperity, he could 
not dislike him in his adversity. He was willing, 
he said, to meet his former kindness by any private 
service in his powder, but in no wise nor under any 
circumstances had he allowed or could he ever al- 
low those feelings to influence him to violate his 
duty to the state. 

After the most searching examination, the King, 
having heard his manly and straightforward avowal, 
wished to discharge him ; but some of the council 
objected, and he was retained a prisoner in his own 
hired lodgings in the city. He was not permitted 
to go abroad, but was allowed to see any friends 
who might wash to visit him there. He was thus 
treated as a suspected person, whom it was neces- 
sary to watch. 

He again had recourse to his pen, and the three 
succeeding years of seclusion gave rise to several 
valuable works. His "fruits of solitude," as he 
termed them, were numerous and important. One 
of these publications, which was of great use in that 
day, and very highly valued by Friends, is entitled, 
A Key opening the loay to every capacity, hoiv to 



394 Peiuis torltu,'US ichlle a prisoner. 

distiiicjuisli the Relujion ivofessed hij tlie People caUcd 
Quakers from the Perversions and Misrepresenta- 
tions of their Adversaries. This work went through 
twelve editions during the lifetime of its author. 
Another was entitled An Essay toivard tlie Present 
and Future Peace of Europe. It proposes that Eu- 
rope should recognize a General Diet or Congress 
of Nations, in which every nation should be repre- 
sented by deputies, and in which national diifer- 
ences might be settled on just principles without 
recourse to war. A third is entitled Some Fruits 
of Solitude, in Reflections and Maxims relatin(j to 
the Conduct of Human Life. The reflections and 
maxims which it embodies exliibit the experience of 
a wise and practical Christian, expressed in brief 
and pithy aphorisms. A fourth was The Fruits of 
a Father s Love, with others of more temporary 
interest. Here again we may recognize the over- 
ruling hand of our Heavenly Father, whose servant, 
whilst condemned to solitude by unreasona])le men, 
was enabled therein to bring forth much fruit. 

Meantime Fuller, on whose accusation William 
Penn had been imprisoned, was proved through an- 
other train of circumstances to be a peijured im- 
postor. By direction of the House of Commons 
he was brought to trial, and being found guilty was 
condemned to severe punishment. Notwithstand- 
ing this, there were other circumstances unfavour- 
able to the liberation of Penn. The King had been 
urged to confiscate his estates, and to this he had 



His liberty restored. 395 

so far yielded as to include his Irish property 
among the confiscated lands in that country. But 
King William himself desired to get possession of 
Pennsylvania. He did not like the precedent of a 
government established on a basis of peace, with- 
out any military provision, and early in 1692 an 
order in council was issued depriving William Penn 
of his government, and annexing it to that of New 
York, This was a dreadful blow, for in his settle- 
ment he had sunk all he could spare from the in- 
come he derived from his estates, in addition to 
what had originally been paid for it. But it was 
not from pecuniary considerations that his greatest 
trouble arose ; his vested property might still to a 
certain extent be respected ; it was the impending 
danger to all his plans for a just, free, and peaceful 
government which pained him most deeply. Yet, 
through all, hope never forsook him ; he believed 
that his government would yet be restored, and 
his freedom also. But he would not suffer any of 
his friends to ask, as a favour from the King, for 
either the one or the other. They must be given 
him as his right, or not at all. 

Towards the close of 1693 his personal liberty 
was restored by the King's order, the intelligence 
being conveyed through the Secretary of State. In 
writing to Thomas Lloyd, to inform him and his 
other Pennsylvania friends of the happy change, he 
says, " From the Secretary I went to our meeting 
at the Bull and Mouth ; thence to visit the sane- 



39^ Death of GuVielma Maria Penn. 

tuary of my solitude; and, after that, to see my 
poor wife and children, the eldest being with me all 
this while. My wife is yet weakly ; but I am not 
without hopes of her recovery, who is one of the 
best of wives and women." 

It was a happiness and a blessing to the gentle 
invalid to have her husband and her son again by 
her side ; but disease had made too deep an inroad 
on her delicate constitution to be removed. She 
lived for three months after their return, and then 
departed for her heavenly home on the 23rd of 
the Twelfth-month, 1693, in the fiftieth year of her 
age. She died at Hoddesden, and was buried at 
Jordans, near the remains of her four children 
and her mother. Her husband writes concerning 
her : — 

" She would not suifer me, after I recovered my 
liberty, to neglect any public meeting upon her ac- 
count, saying often, ' Oh ! go, my dearest ; do not 
hinder any good for me. I desire thee go ; I have 
cast my care upon the Lord ; I shall see thee again.' 
About three hours before her end, on a relation 
taking leave of her, she said, ' My dear love to 
all Friends,' and, lifting up her djdng hands and 
eyes, prayed to the Lord to preserve and bless them. 
About an hour after, causing all to withdraw, we 
were half an hour together, in which we took our 
last leave. At her departure our cliildren and 
most of our family were present. She gently ex- 
pired in my arms, her head upon m^^ bosom, with 



Penns testimony respecting her, 397 

a sensible and devout resignation of her soul to 
Almighty God. 

" I hope I may say she was a public as well as a 
private loss ; for she was not only an excellent wife 
and mother, but an entire and constant friend, of a 
more than common capacity, and great modesty 
and humility; yet most equal and undaunted in 
danger ; religious as well as ingenious ; without 
affectation ; an easy mistress, and good neighbour, 
especially to the poor : neither lavish nor penurious ; 
but an example of industry as well as of other 
virtues : therefore our great loss, though her own 
eternal gain." 



CHAPTER XIV. 

1694. 

William Penn's testimony respecting George Fox. — Penn applies suc- 
cessfully to Queen Mary for a restoration of his chartered rights in 
Pennsylvania. — Springett Penn's illness. — His death and character. — 
Removal of the Penn family to Bristol. — William Penn and his son 
visit Ireland. — He removes with his family to Pennsylvania. — Is 
cordially welcomed. — Pennsbury past and present. — Slaves employed 
there. — Efforts in England to break Penn's charter. — Is obliged to 
return to defend it. — William Penn jun. in Pennsylvania, — His 
conduct and character. — Philip Ford's fraudulent claims. — Logan's 
opinion of him. — Penn in the Fleet prison. — Efforts wbf<eh led to 
his release. — The Provincial Assembly of Pennsylvania. — Prosperity 
of the settlement. — William Penn is attacked by paralysis. — Its 
effect on his mind during succeeding years. — Thomas Story at Rus- 
combe — Death of William Penn. — His will. — Death of William 
Penn, jun. — His descendants. — Death of Hannah Penn. — Her de- 
scendants. — Descendants of the Peningtons. — Death of Thomas and 
Mary EUwood. 

After the death of George Fox his journal was 
phiced in the hands of Thomas Ellwood to copy, 
and see it through the press. When, in 1694, it was 
ready for publication, William Penn wrote a pre- 
fice detailing the rise, progress, and principles " of 
the people called Quakers." His testimony to the 
cliaracter of his departed friend gives the following 
pictui"(^ ol'that extraordinary man: — 

39^ 



Peniis cltaractcr of Gear ye Fox. 399 

" Truly I must say, though God had visibly 
clothed him with a Divine preference and authority, 
and indeed his very presence exj)ressed a religious 
majesty, yet he never abused it ; but held his place 
in the church of God with great meekness, and a 
most engaging humility and moderation. For, 
upon all occasions, like his blessed Master, he was 
servant to all ; holding and exercising his eldership 
in the invisible power that had gathered them, with 
reverence to the Head, and care over the body. He 
was received only in that spirit and power of Christ, 
as the first and chief elder in this age ; therefore 
worthy of double honour, which was for that rea- 
son given by the faithful of this day ; because his 
authority was inward, not outward, and that he got 
it and kept it by the love of God. I write by know- 
ledge and not report, and my witness is true, hav- 
ing been with him for weeks and months together 
on divers occasions, and those of the nearest and 
nKJst exercising nature, and that by night and by 
day, by sea and by land, in this and in foreign coun- 
tries : and I can say I never saw him out of his 
place, or not a match for every service or occasion. 
For in all things he acquitted himself like a man, 
yea, a strong man, a new and heavenly minded 
man ; a divine and a naturalist, and all of God 
Almighty's making. 

'^ 1 liave been surprised by his questions and 
answers in natural things ; that whilst he was ig- 
norant of useless and sophistical science, he had in 



400 Last mjunction of George Fox. 

him the foundation of useful and commendable 
knowledge, and cherished it everywhere. Civil 
beyond all forms of breeding, in his behaviour; 
very temperate, eating little, and sleeping less, 
though a bulky person. 

" Thus he lived and sojourned amongst us, and 
as he lived so he died ; feeling in his last moments 
the same eternal power that had raised and pre- 
served him. So full of assurance was he, that he 
triumphed over' death; and so even to the last, as 
if death were hardly worth notice or mention ; re- 
commending to some with him the dispatch and 
dispersion of an epistle, just before written to the 
churches of Christ throughout the world, and his 
own books, but, above all Friends and of all 
Friends, those in Ireland and America, twice 
over saying, ' Mind poor Friends in Ireland and 
America.' " 

After William Penn's release, when the state of 
his affairs came in all their details before him, it 
seemed hard fully to account lor the statements of 
his confidential ngcnt, Philip Ford. It was true his 
Irish estates had latterly yielded nothing ; the farms 
of his tenants had been ravaged during the war, 
and a state of general disorder was j^roduced by 
the proposed confiscation. His title to the pro- 
perty had been restored, but rents did not soon 
follow. His English property had been managed 
by Philip Ford and his son, who, though profess- 
edly Quakers, were under that guise cunning, 



Pctuf's family troubles. 40 1 

avaricious men. In liis difficulty Penn appealed 
to x\merica for his quit-rents, but little or no rents 
were sent him. To Colonel Fletcher, the Marshal 
Governor of New York, under whom Pennsylvania 
had been placed, the Provincial Assembly had on 
demand voted such supplies for maintaining the 
expenses of government, such as they had never 
granted to their own paternal ruler. Penn felt this 
deeply ; but he also thought it likely that, having 
found out what others required of them, they 
would probably do better were he in his rightful 
position again. He therefore made an ajDplication 
to Queen Mary, the King being absent in Flanders, 
to reinstate him in the government of Pennsylvania. 
A close inquiry was instituted, his charter re-ex- 
amined, the government of the province investi- 
gated, and it appearing evident that he had done 
nothing to invalidate his original chartered rights, 
they were restored to him. 

This was cheering so far as it went. But a 
source of anxious feeling arose in another direction. 
He was deeply concerned on noticing the health of 
his eldest son. Gulielma had left three children, 
Springett, William, and Letitia. Another daughter, 
Gulielma Maria, died in 1689; and now Springett, 
his father's most attached ajid devoted companion, 
seemed to be declining. Letitia was still but a 
child. William was generous, but was too much 
devoted to amusement and gay company. It was 
probabl}^ from these circumstances in his family 
26 



402 Last illness of Sjjr'imjett Penn. 

that William Penn felt the necessity of choosing 
another wife. His second choice was Hannah, 
daimhtcr of Thomas Callowliill, and G:randdan2:hter 
of Dennis Hollister, both eminent merchants of 
Bristol, and members of the Society of Friends. 
They wxre married in the spring of 1696. 

Springett's health did not improve with the re- 
turning summer. He gradually grew worse, and 
died about five weeks after the second marriage of 
his father, who wrote the touching account of his 
death and character entitled, Sorrow and Joy in the 
Loss and End of Spring ett Penn^ from which the 
following extracts are taken : — 

" One day he said to us, ' I am resigned to what 
God jjleaseth. He knows what is best. I would 
live if it pleased Him, that I might serve Him ; 
but oh ! Lord, not my will but Thine be done !' 
When he told me he had rested well, and I said it 
w^as a mercy, he quickly replied, with a serious yet 
sweet look, ^All is mercy, dear father.' Another 
time, when I went to meeting, he said, ' Remember 
me, my dear father, before the Lord. Though I 
cannot go to meetings, yet I have here many good 
meetings. The Lord comes in upon my spirit. I 
have heavenly meetings with Him by myself 

" Not many days before he died, the Lord ap- 
pearing by His holy power upon his spirit, on ask- 
ing him at my return how he did, he told me, ^ Oh ! 
I have had a sweet time, a blessed time ! great 
enjoyiuents ! The power of the Lord overcame 



Last illness of Spring ett Penn. 403 

my soul !' Telling him how some of the gentry 
who had been to visit him were gone to their 
games and sports and pleasures, he said, in refer- 
ence to the idea of such things bringing happiness, 
' It is all stuff, my dear father— sad stuff ! Oh that 
I might live to tell them so !' ' Well, my dear 
child,' I replied, 4et this be the time of thy enter- 
ing into secret covenant with God, that if He raise 
thee thou wilt dedicate thy youth, strength, and 
life to Him, and His people and service.' He re- 
plied, ' Father, that is not now to do,' repeating, with 
great tenderness of spirit, ' It is not now to do.' 

" Being almost ever near him, and doing for him 
anything he wanted, he broke out with much love, 
' My dear father, if I live I will make thee amends.' 
Speaking to him of divine enjoyments that the eye 
of man saw not, but which the soul made alive by 
the spirit of Christ plainly felt, in lively remem- 
brance he cried out, ' Oh ! I had a sweet time j^es- 
terday by myself! That the Lord hath preserved 
me to this day, blessed be His name ! my soul 
praises Him for His mercy.' Fixing his eyes upon 
his sister, he took her by the hand, saying, ' Poor 
Tishe, look to good things ! Poor child, there is no 
comfort without it ! One drop of the love of God 
is worth more than all the world. I know it ; I 
have tasted it. I have felt as much, or more of 
the love of God in this weakness, than in all my 
life before.' At another time, as I stood by him 
he said, ' Dear father, sit by me ! I love thy com- 



404 Last illness of Sj^rijigett Penn. 

p'any, and I know thou lovest mine ; if it be the 
Lord's will that we must part, be not troubled, for 
that will trouble me.' 

"Taking something one night in bed, just before 
going to rest, he sat up and fervently prayed thus, 
' ! Lord God, Thou, whose Son said to His dis- 
ciples, whatsoever ye ask in my name ye shall 
receive, I pray thee in His name bless this to me 
this night, and give me rest, if it be thy blessed 
will.' And accordingly he had a very comfortable 
night, of which he took thankful notice before us 
the next day. 

" When at one time more than ordinarily he ex- 
pressed a desire to live, and entreated me to pray 
for him, he added, 'And, dear father, if the Lord 
should raise me, and enable me to serve Him and 
His people, then I might travel with thee some- 
times [meaning in the ministry] and we might ease 
one another.' He spoke this with great modesty ; 
upon which I said to him, ' My dear child, if it 
please the Lord to raise thee, I am satisfied it will 
be so ; and if not, then, inasmuch as it is thy fer- 
vent desire in the Lord, He will look upon thee 
just as if thou didst live to serve Him, and thy 
comfort will be the same. So either way it will be 
w^ell ; for if thou shouldst not live, I verily believe 
thou wilt have the recompense of thy good desires, 
w^ithout the temptations and troubles that would 
attend if long life were granted thee.' 

'^ Feeling himself decline apace, somebody fetched 



Peim preaches In Duhlln. 405 

the doctor, but as soon as lie came in he said, "' Let 
my father speak to the doctor, and I'll go asleep,' 
which he did, and waked no more, breathing his 
last on my breast, the tenth day of the Second 
month, between the hours of nine and ten, 1696, in 
his twenty-first year." 

In the year 1697, William Penn removed with his 
family to Bristol, his wife's native place. The fol- 
lowing spring he visited Ireland, taking with him 
his son William. They arrived in Dublin in due 
time to attend the half year's meeting. Thomas 
Story, who was also there on this occasion, speaks 
of it thus, " Great was the resort of people of all 
ranks and professions to our meetings ; chiefly on 
account of our friend William Penn, who was ever 
furnished by the Truth with matter fully to answer 
their expectations. Many of the clergy were there, 
and the people with one voice spoke well of what 
they heard. Of the clergy the Dean of Derry w\as 
one, who being there several times, w^as asked by 
his bishop whether he heard any thing but blas- 
phemy and nonsense, and whether he took off his 
hat in time of prayer. He answered that he heard 
no blasphemy nor nonsense, but the everlasthig 
Truth, and did not only take off his hat at prayer, 
but his heart said Amen to what he heard." The 
language of these two dignitaries gives a fair idea 
of the variety of treatment and opinion which 
William Penn met w itli in Ireland as well as in 
England froin the Episcopal church party. 



4o6 Pom j^^nacJies in Curl'. 

He spent over three inoiitlis in the island on 
that occasion, most of which time was occupied in 
gospel labour from place to place. A few weeks 
were devoted to the examination of his estates in 
the county of Cork ; first those in the barony of 
Imokelly, in which was situated Shangarry castle, 
the scene of some memorable associations of his 
early days. What reminiscences that region must 
have awakened ! The father and son afterwards 
proceeded to '^ the Barony of Ibaune and Barryroe, 
to vicAv the rest of his estates in those parts." 

At Cork and Bandon they had good meetings, 
attended by large numbers of all ranks and pro- 
fessions. Here they were informed, by letters from 
Ensfland, that durins: William Penn's absence a 
base attack had been made upon his character, 
even in the Yearly Meeting of London. ^' But 
this," says Thomas Story, '' was done by a shame- 
less and implacable party, being moved by envy at 
the honour and dignity which the Most High had 
been pleased to confer on him." He adds that, 
'' soon after receiving those tidings, they had ano- 
ther large and crowded meeting at Cork, where ail 
who had heard of the evil suggestions made at 
Londtm might be assured that they sprang from a 
fixlse and evil root, for the Lord was pleased to 
clothe William that day Avith majesty, holy zeal, 
and divine wisdom, to the great satisfaction of 
Friends, and the admiration and applause of the 
people." 



lie returns to Anirriac. 407 

The " implacable party," to which Thomas Story 
alludes, were probably those to whom Gulielma 
Penn referred in her last letter to Margaret Fox, 
as " bad spirits," who had been disturbing the 
harmony of their meetings. 

Soon after William Penn's return from Ireland, 
he began preparations for removing with his family 
to America. With this prospect his arrangements 
went forward during the early months of 1609. Of 
Gulielma's children only Letitia went with hiui. 
William was married, and he and his young w^fe 
chose to remain in England. The documents with 
which, in his capacity of a minister of the Society 
of Friends, he was furnished on this occasion, abun- 
dantly show (as his American biographer, Samuel 
Janney, remarks) that he was in full unity with, 
and greatly beloved by his own fellow-professors. 
The certificate from the monthly meeting in Essex 
to which he had belonged for the greater part of 
his membership in the society, was copied hy Jan- 
ney from the records of Friends in Philadelphia. 

Fro'in our 3Ionthly 3Ieeting held at Hor^sham, Old ErKjland, 
Ufh Vth Mo. 1699. 

To the churches of Christ in PennsA'lvania and to all tlic 
faithful Friends and brethren unto whom this ma}- come. 
In the covenant of life, and fellowship of the gospel of oiii- 
Lord Jesus Christ, and in the unity of the one eternal 
Spirit of our God, we dearl}^ salute you, most earnestly 
desiring ^our everlasting prosperity in the blessed truth. 



4o8 Peujis " ccrtljicater 

Now, dear friends and brethren, whereas our worthy 
friend and elder, William Penn, did acquaint our Monthl}^ 
Men's Meeting with his intended voyage into his province 
of Pennsylvania, and although we are right sensible that he 
needeth no letter of recommendation from us, yet at his 
request, and for the good order sake that God hath estab- 
lished in His Church and among His people, and for the 
sincere love we bear to our well-beloved friend, we could 
do no less than give this small token of our unity and com- 
munion with him, as a testimony for him and his service 
in the Church of Christ, wherein he hath been a blessed 
instrument in the hand of the Lord, both in his ministry 
and conversation, and hath always sought the prosperity 
of the blessed truth, and of peace and concord in the 
Church, He hath walked among us in all humility, 
godly sincerity, and true brotherl}^ love, to our great re- 
freshment and comfort: and hath with much labour and 
great travail on all occasions endeavoured the defence of 
Truth against its opposers, and the preservation of true unity 
and good order in the Church of Christ. So, in the unity 
of the one Eternal Spirit, which is the bond of true peace, 
we take our leave of him, with earnest breathings and 
supplications to the great God whom the winds and seas 
obey, that He would mercifully be pleased to go along 
with him, and conduct him by the angel of His divine i)re- 
sence to his desired port, and preserve him to the end of 
his days ; and in the end, that he may receive an immortal 
crown, and be bound up in the bundle of life amongst 
them that have turned mau}^ to righteousness, who shine 
as the sun in the llrmament of God's eternal power, for 
ever and ever. Amen. 

After a voyage of more than three months, the 
Governor of Pennsylvania, his wife, danghter, and 



Settles in Pennshury. 409 

retinue, arrived in their American home, and were 
most heartily welcomed. Penn brought over with 
him as his secretary James Logan, who was by 
birth an Irishman ; his parents were both Quakers. 
On being deprived of an estate in Scotland, they 
had settled in Lurgan, where James received his 
early education. Ultimately the family removed 
to Bristol, which led to his acquaintance with 
the Penns. In writing to William Penn, jun. an- 
nouncing their safe arrival, Logan says of their re- 
ception on this occasion : — " The highest terms I 
could use would hardly give an idea of the welcome 
that thy father received from most of the honester 
party here. Friends generally concluded that, after 
all their troubles and disappointments, this province 
now scarcely wanted anything more to render it 
completely happy. The faction that had long con- 
tinued to overthrow the settled constitution re- 
ceived an universal damp" . . . '^ Friends' love to 
the Governor was great and sincere ; they had long 
mourned his absence, and passionately desired his 
return. He, they firmly believed, would compose 
all their difficulties and repair all that was amiss." 
The Governor and his family, after a little time 
spent in the city, took up their abode at Pennshury 
Manor. Before they removed, Hannah Penn's first 
sou Avas born ; he was named John, and used to ha 
spoken of as "■ the American." The house and 
grounds of Pennshury, which was their summer 
residence, is thus described by Janney : — '" This 



41 o Dt'^:rrfj/lloiL of Pi;n}id)itrij. 

beautiful estate was situated in Bucks county, four 
miles above Bristol, on the river Delaware. It 
comprised upwards of six thousand acres of fertile 
alluvial soil, mostly covered with majestic forests, 
and, while in possession of an Indian king, had 
borne the name of Sepassin. It extended about 
two miles along the river Delaware, lying between 
Governor's Creek and Welcome Creek, the latter of 
which, making a bend, nearly enclosed it in the 
rear, at high water converting it into an island." 

The mansion, which w^as built in 1682 and 1683, 
with subsequent improvements cost £5,000, a large 
sum in those days. 

That beautiful spot on the banks of the iJela- 
ware, which is associated with some of the happiest 
days of the great Christian philanthropist, exhibits 
to the view of the traveller, as he sails up the river, 
scarcely any remains of Pennsbury Manor. The 
mansion is gone, and a comfortable farmhouse oc- 
cupies its site. A leaky reservoir on the top of the 
house is said to have been the cause of the prema- 
ture ruin of the building, which extended about 
sixty feet in front, looking down on the river from 
a moderate eminence. It was surrounded by taste- 
fully arranged gardens and terraces, with vistas 
which opened into views of the distant woods, and 
again up tlie river to the falls of the Delaware. 
The Governor, after his first return to England, 
continued to send out European shrubs and trees, 
to be intermixed with the native varieties in the 



Description of Pcniishurij. 411 

ornamental grounds around the liouse. He after- 
wards sent directions to tlie gardener about their 
disposal, and about collecting and cultivating the 
beautiful native flowers which grew in the sur- 
rounding woods. 

The furniture and draperies of Pennsbury, as we 
learn from an inventory which still exists, seem to 
have been handsome and tasteful, suitable to the 
station and habits of its occupants. The family 
at the manor used vehicles of various kinds, among 
which a coach, a calash, and a sedan-chair are 
specified, but we are told they generally preferred 
riding on horseback when in the country. The 
Governor's usual mode of transit between the city 
and his country-house was a large barge, with one 
mast and six oars, for which he seems to have 
had a decided preference. Writing to James Harri- 
son, his steward, and commending the plants to 
his watchful care, he says "but, above all dad 
things, my barge. I hope nobody uses it on any 
account, and that she is kept in dock, covered from 
the weather." 

We are told that when passing in his Ijariir' ))('- 
tween Philadelphia and Pennsbury, he freijueiiUy 
stopped at Burlington, to see Governor Jenniiiiis 
of New Jersey, who was also an eminent liiinistcr 
among the Friends. "On one occasion Jeiiniiius 
and some of his friends were enjoying their p!])es, 
a practice which Penn disliked. On hearing that 
Penn's barge was in sight, they put awa\ their 



412 Penn and tlte Indians. 

pipes, that their friend might not be annoyed, and 
endeavoured to conceal from him what they were 
about. He came upon them, however, somewhat 
suddenly, and pleasantly remarked that he was 
glad they had sufficient sense of propriety to be 
ashamed of the practice. Jennings, who was rarely 
at a loss for an answer, rejoined that they were not 
ashamed, but desisted to avoid hurting a weak 
brother." 

Among the recreations of the Governor and his 
family was the occasional attendance at an Indian 
fair, or cantico — in reference to which his cash- 
book, kept by James Logan, contains the following 
entries : — 

B}^ my mistress at the fair £2 8 

By expenses, given to Hannah Car- 
penter, for a fairing 8 

By do. to two children, for comfits, per 

order 1 6 

By tlie Governor, going to cantico ... 1 18 4 

When visiting the Indians, William Penn, in the 
overflowing sympathy of his heart, always endea- 
voured to make them feel as innocently happy as 
possible, and he found that nothing succeeded bet- 
ter than entering into whatever was going forward 
among them, such as partaking in hearty good will 
of their venison, their homin}^, or their roasted 
acorns — whichever happened to be at hand. And 
when they stood up to try their strength and skill, 
in the athletic games to which they were accus- 



Penn and the Negroes. 413 

tomecl, he used to join them, and in his earlier 
days is said to have been a full match for any of 
them, and to have entered into these exercises with 
great zest and pleasantry. 

Isaac Norris, a man of wealth and influence in 
the colony, remarks in a family letter: — "The 
Governor's wife and daughter are well ; their little 
son is a lovely babe ; his wife is extremely well 
beloved here, exemplary in her station, and of an 
excellent spirit, which adds lustre to her character, 
and she has a great place in the hearts of good peo- 
ple. The Governor is our pater ^^aifrice, and his 
worth is no new thing to us. We value him 
highly, and hope his life will be preserved till 
things (now on the wheel) are settled to his peace 
and comfort, and the people's ease and quiet." 

In the early time of the settlement some negroes 
had been purchased as labourers at Pennsbury, and 
tliey continued to be employed prior to William 
Penn's last visit ; but, before he returned to Eng- 
land again, he arranged for them all to have their 
liberty. In a will left on that occasion with James 
Logan, in order to make their liberation perfectly 
secure he says, " I give to my blacks their freedom, 
as is under my hand already, and to old Sam one 
hundred acres of land, to be his children's after he 
and his wife are dead, forever." He was greatly 
concerned for the general instruction and religious 
care of the negroes who were occupied or owned by 
the colonists. While he was in Pennsylvania he 



414 Penn recalled to England. 

endeavoured by legal enactment to secure to tliem 
such rightful privileges as he saw were not ex- 
tended to them by their owners, and he brought 
a measure for that purpose before the provincial 
representatives ; but his attempts were defeated in 
the House of Assembly. With his own religious 
society he had more success, as is proved by the 
minutes of Philadelphia monthly meeting. Many 
Friends about that time and shortly afterwards 
liberated their slaves long before it became an im- 
perative rule of the society to do so. 

There were yet " other works on the wheel," 
much on every side, for the influence and presence 
of the Governor to realize in Pennsylvania, when 
he received a most pressing call from his friends in 
England to return. Nothing else, they said, could 
prevent the annexation to the Crown of his pro- 
vince, and that of the others in America, at the 
next session of parliament. A bill with this object 
was then under discussion in the House of Lords^ 
and would almost certainly be enacted, probably 
not then, but the very next term, if he were not 
ready most strenuously to meet the false state- 
ments which had been put forth. There was no 
alternative left but to go. His wife and daughter 
protested against being left behind; but Hannah 
Penn assured her husband she would be most wil- 
ling to return as soon as he was ready to do so. 
Writing to James Logan he says, '^ I cannot pre- 
vail on my wife to stay, still less Tislie. I know 



'' Cdrtificctte' of Let U la Pejin. 415 

not what to do;' And accordingly lie took them 
Yvdtli him. 

In Watson's Annals of Pennsylvania we hud 
this certificate of removal, which will be inte^e^t- 
ing and very intelligible to Friends. It is d:u; d 
27 th of Seventh-month, 1701. 

These ma}^ certify that Letitia Peiin has for good order 
sake desired a certificate from us, and we freely certify to 
all whom it may concern that she hath well behaved her- 
self here, very soberly, and according to the good instruc- 
tions which she hath received in the way of Truth, being 
well inclined, courteously carriaged, and sweetly tempered 
in her conversation among us, and also a diligent comer to 
meetino-s. We hope she hath plentifully received of the 
dew which hath fallen upon God's people, to her settlement 
and establishment in the same. 

It also set forth that, to the best of their know- 
ledge and belief, " she was not nnder any marriage 
engagement." 

The Penn family arrived in England towards 
the close of 1701, after an absence of a little more 
than two years. These years had not added to 
the steadiness and wisdom of William Penn's son, 
whom he left in possession of Worminghurst. He 
had also given up to him the income from his 
Irish estates, having resolved to rely thencefor- 
ward on the returns from the property sunk in 
America, for the maintenance of himself and his 
other children. But this young man and his in- 
experienced wife having been introduced to high 



41 6 Paternal anxiety. 

society and its expensive surroundings, were not 
much influenced by simple Quaker habits, although 
they still professed to be Quakers. It was a source 
of very great trouble to William Penn to observe 
all this on his return. He was therefore most 
anxious that his son should sever himself from the 
extravagant associates with whom he had become 
acquainted, and accordingly he urged his going to 
Pennsylvania to supply his place. The son said 
he must see the country before he would take his 
famity. His ftither therefore wTote to James Logan 
soon after his return, as follows : — 

" My son shall hasten. Go with him to Penns- 
bury. Advise him. Recommend his acquaintance. 
No rambling to New York. He has promised fair. 
I know he will regard thee. He has wit, kept the 
top company, and must be handled with much love 
and wisdom. Urging the weakness and folly of 
some behaviour, and the necessity of another con- 
duct, from interest and for reputation, will go far. 
And get Samuel Carpenter, Edward Shippen, Isaac 
Norris, Phineas Pemberton, Thomas Masters, and 
such persons to be soft and kind in teaching. That 
will do wonders with him. He is conquered in that 
way, pretends much to humour, and is over gene- 
rous by half; yet sharp enough to get to spend." 

Thus the anxious father spoke to one who was 
not very much older than William himself. But 
the Governor knew that James Logan was an 
honourable and high principled Christian. How- 



Pecuniar ij difficulties. 417 

ever, William did not hasten, as his father had 
hoped he would. After the lapse of another year 
he informs the same trusty friend : — 

" My son (having life) resolves to be with you per 
first opportunity. His wife this day week was de- 
livered of a fine boy, which he calls William. So 
that now we are major ^ mino?^, and minimus. I 
bless the Lord, mine are pretty well — Johnny 
lively, Tommy a lovely large child, and my grand- 
son Springett, a mere Saracen ; his sister a beauty. 
If my son sends hounds, as he has provided two or 
three couple of choice ones, for deer, foxes and 
wolves, pray let great care be taken of them." 

Meantime no supplies reached the Governor, to 
enable him to conduct the expensive suit which 
resulted from the threatened annexation of the 
province. He says, writing to Logan, " 12th mo. 
1702. I strictly charge thee to represent to Friends 
that I am forced to borrow money, adding debts to 
debts, for conferences, counsel's opinions, hearings, 
etc., with the charges for these. Guineas melting 
away, four, ^yq^ six a week, and sometimes as 
many a day." The annexation would have been of 
all things dreaded by the colonists, as in that case 
their colonial laws must have been endangered ; yet 
they could not be roused to send their Governor 
suitable supplies to withstand it. 

Eight months later he writes again, " I never 
was so reduced ; for Ireland, my old principal verb, 

has hardly any money. England severe to her. 

27 



41 8 Willunn Penn,jun. 

No trade but hither (save butter and meat to 
Flanders and the West Indies) and at England's 
mercy for prices, so that we must go and eat out 
half our rents, or we cannot enjoy them." 

William Penn, jun. arrived in Pennsylvania the 
last month of 1703, and the father wrote to his 
secretary : — " Take him away to Pennsbury, and 
there give him the true state of things. Weigh 
down his levities, as well as temper his resent- 
ments and inform his understanding. Watch him. 
Outwit him honestly for his good. Fishings, — little 
journeys to see the Indians, etc. will divert him ; 
and interest Friends to bear with him all they can, 
and melt towards him, at least civilly, if not religi- 
ously. He will confide in thee. If S. Carpenter, 
Pvichard Hill, and Isaac Norris could gain his con- 
fidence (and strive to tender Griffith Owen — not 
the least likely, for he sees and feels) I should 
rejoice. Pennsylvania has cost me dearer in my 
po^jir child than all other considerations. The Lord 
pit}^ and spare in His great mercy. I yet hope." 

At first young Penn, by his open courteous 
manners, interested and pleased his father's friends 
in the colony. The Indians, having heard of his 
arrival, sent a deputation of one hundred, among 
,whom were nine of their kings, with Ohewousium- 
hook, the chief, who came to Pennsbury to tender 
their welcome and congratulations, and presented 
him with some belts of wampum in proof of their 
goodwill. Those he received \Qvy graciously. But 



William Penn^ jiin. 419 

the young man's expensive habits soon outran all 
the provision his father had made for him; and as 
James Logan in a little time lost his influence, he 
associated with companions of a very different type, 
the principal among whom was the Deputy-gover- 
nor Evans, who had come out with him by his 
fiither's special appointment. In Evans William 
Penn had been lamentably mistaken. He had 
talents, but was wanting in good morals, and all his 
influence with the young man was to his injury. 
True to his trust, James LoGran let the father know 
how matters stood. In a letter dated 2nd 8br. 1704, 
the latter says, after asking him to urge William to 
send for his wife and family, " I have done when I 
tell thee to let my poor son know that if he be not 
a very good husband, I must sell there as well as 
here, and that all he spends is disabling me so far 
to clear myself of debt, and that he will pay for it 
at the long run. Do it in the friendliest manner ; 
that he may co-operate with me to ch\ar our encum- 
bered estates." 

At length there was an affray one night in the 
street, in which both Evans and young Penn were 
concerned, and both were extremely indignant at 
being treated like ordinary rioters. The Friends 
dealt with young Penn as their member, and he, 
resenting their advice and admonition, resigned his 
membership, and declared he woidd forthwith re- 
turn home. 

William Penn, in liis next letter to James Lo2:an. 



420 WiUuim Penii^ jim. 

says, "I am sorry to liave such a prospect of 
charges ; two houses and the Governors's salary, my 
son's voyage, stay, and return ; and no revenue nor 
Susquehanna money paid, on which account I 
ventured my poor child so far away from his wife 
and pretty children, and my own oversight. Oh ! 
Pennsylvania, what hast thou not cost me ? Ahove 
£30,000 more than I ever got ; two hazardous and 
fiitiguing voyages ; my straits and slavery here ; 
and my child's soul, almost." 

William returned home, but did not bring any 
comfort to his father's anxious heart. He had en- 
tirely withdrawn from Friends, and declared that if 
nothing better turned up for him, he would enter 
the army or navy. However, instead of doing 
so, he endeavoured to get into Parliament, as his 
father mentions in the following extract from a 
letter to Logan, dated 30, 2nd mo. 1705 :— " With 
a load of debt hardly to be answered, from the 
difficulty of getting in what I have a right to — 
twice its value — Vvdiich is like starving in the midst 
of bread, my head and lieart are filled sufficiently 
with trouble. Yet the Lord holds up my head, and 
Job's over-righteous and mistaken friends have not 
sunk my soid from its confidence in God,". . ." My 
son has lost his election, as also the Lord Keeper's 
son-in-law, but both hope to recover it by proving 
bril^ery upon the two that have it. Lord Windsor 
and Squire Argill. I wish it might turn his foce to 
privacy and good husbandry." But WilHam's face 



Duplicity of the Fords. 421 

had been too determinedly turned in other direc- 
tions to be thus brought round. 

In addition to the trials which arose from the 
conduct of his son, and from his not having suf- 
ficiently secured his own pecuniar}' interest whilst 
providing for that of his province, the Governor of 
Pennsylvania met with another great trouble in the 
evening of his life, through the duplicity of his 
agents, the Fords. He trusted Philip Ford to the 
utmost, passing his accounts without scrutiny. For 
the space of twenty years he suspected nothing, till 
the final catastrophe. On Ford's death, his widow 
and his son Philip Ford, jun. presented an account 
against William Penn, showing him to be £14,000 
in their debt. William Penn impugned the state- 
ment, and all those concerned being Quakers, he at 
once prepared to submit the whole to arbitrators 
for examination and decision. This the Fords 
spurned, well knowing it could not stand any such 
test. But, from the cunning way in which the 
affair had been managed, they expected the law 
would serve their purpose better. 

At one period of .^ the difficulties occasioned by 
his expenditure on Pennsylvania, William Penn, 
without the knowledge of any of his friends, had 
borrowed .£2,800 from Philip Ford, for which he 
gave him security on the province. When, of the 
income from the English and' Irish estates, enough 
was afterwards left in Ford's hands to pay off* the 
debt, Penn, feeling no doubt of its ffiithful applica- 



422 Penn a prisoner in tlie Fleet. 

tion, did not look after his bond. Meantime Ford 
calculated enormous interest and compound interest 
on the debt, with exorbitant charges for every 
movement in connection with it, whilst none of the 
money which had been left in his hands was taken 
any notice of, till the debt was represented on his 
death as having amounted to <£14,000. A close 
examination, wdth such documentary evidence as 
William Penn could bring forward in Ford's own 
writing, proved clearly that instead of owing this 
sum to Ford, Ford owed him £1659. Notwith- 
standing all this, the bond stood legally against 
him, with enormous accumulations, and nothing 
short of the utmost farthing would satisfy the 
Fords. However, it was found that was only 
about one half what was claimed. 

On non-payment of one of the smaller items of 
their demands, they took out a warrant against 
William Penn, which the bailiffs were ordered to 
execute one day when he should be seated in 
Gracechurch-meeting. They would have acted up to 
these instructions but for the interference of Henry 
Goldney and Herbert Springe tt, wdio engaged that 
he should be ready for them in a few hours. Penn's 
friends advised him not to pay the claim, but rather 
go to prison, and he was accordingly lodged in 
the Fleet. His case called forth the utmost sj'm- 
pathy of his own fellow-professors, which they mani- 
fested in every way in their power. Many of his 
most valued friends repeatedl}* visited him in the 



Penn a prisoner in the Fleet. 423 

Fleet prison, and often held their religious meet- 
ings with him there. James Logan, in writing to 
Thomas Callowhill, Hannah Penn's father, undci" 
date 13th of Sixth-month, 1706, thus speaks of 
the circumstances which led to his son-in-la^v's 
imprisonment : — " Never was any one more barba- 
rously treated, or baited with undeserved enemies. 
He has been able to foil all attacks from public 
adversaries, but it has been his fortune to meet 
the greatest severities from those that owe most to 
him. It must be confessed that some of it is 
owing to his easiness and want of caution. As far 
as I can gather, Philip Ford's designs were base and 
barbarous from the beginning ; and what might not 
an old, cunning, self-interested man, with such in- 
tentions, be capable of doing, when he had so much 
goodness, openheartedness, and confidence in his 
honesty to deal with, is not difficult to imagine." 

In Thomas Callowhill's reply he says, " I ha^'o 
seen their accounts stated under both their hands 
(W. P. and P. F.'s) in which by his easiness and want 
of caution, as thou observes, he gave the wretch 
opportunities for his base, barbarous, and wicked 
extortions; and which, had they been corrected 
timely, would not have amounted to the tenth part 
of what they are now. The little knowledge I have 
of it troubles me ; yet I have comfort in this, that 
though their concern seems so great and exercising, 
neither he nor my daughter sinks under it, but from 
divine power have support to their spirits. I pray 



4^4 Continned ijecunw^'y dljjicalties. 

God it may turn to their good, and be instruction 
for their posterity." 

Oil that occasion William Penn remained for 
nine months a prisoner in the Fleet. His friends 
had exerted themselves, and by that timr; raised the 
sum of £7,500 to pay off the mother, daughter, and 
son of Philip Ford, rather than allow their friend to 
remain any longer incarcerated. Those who ad- 
vanced the money were given due securities on 
Pennsylvania for its repayment. Penn's excellent 
and faithful American biographer speaks of that 
period in the following terms : — " Throughout the 
whole of this vexatious and humiliating business 
he evinced the patience and fortitude of the true 
Christian, whose affections are fixed not on earthly 
but on heavenly things, and the beautiful remark 
of Isaac Norris seemed applicable to him, that 
" God darkens this world to us, that our eyes may 
behold the greater brightness of His kingdom." It 
is indeed true that the world did not now seem 
bright to William Penn. Yet his letters amply 
manifest that ever and anon he rose above its 
clouds into a region of divine love and peace. 

But Penn still laboured under great pecuniary 
difficulties, and was likely to feel them so long as 
he had debts unpaid ; and the stinted returns from 
his American property prevented him from soon 
discharoiii<v tliem. In his son-in-law William Au- 
brey, he had a keen, harsh man to deal with, whose 
temper did not tend to lessen what his father-in- 



Affairs 171 Pennsylvania. 425 

law had to bear in feeling that he owed him any- 
thing. Through the publication of the Logan cor- 
resjDondence these trials and difficulties have all 
been laid open, and they show us very plainly that 
in his career up to the last there were many things 
to contend with ; but that through all a sustaining 
sense of divine support was with him. 

In Pennsylvania he had many devoted friends, 
who felt how muoh the province ow^ed to its foun- 
der. Such, with two or three singular exceptions,* 
was the feeling that existed among the members of 
his own society. But, from the first, the Quakers 
wished to avoid everything that might appear to 
the other colonists to be done in a partizan spirit, 
or as assuming too much the management of pub- 
lic affairs. The inhabitants of the province were 
about one half Quakers, yet it had not been their 
desire that they should be represented in that pro- 
portion in the House of Assembly. But the repre- 
sentatives on the other side to a large extent were 
prompt to battle for all they could obtain for them- 
selves, and against the Governor's necessary sub- 
sidies. This was what led to his perplexities and 
embarrassments. At length the sensible portion of 



* The exceptions above alluded to were George Keith and David 
Lloyd. The former eventually renounced Quaker doctrines and with- 
drew from the Society ; the latter was a man of ability, but he was 
unreasonably prone to fault-finding. He joined the opposition for 
many years in the Provincial Assembly, and by his letters to England 
did great mischief for a time to the Pennsylvania Government. 



426 Affairs in Pennsylvania. 

the colonists became annoyed and ashamed of the 
existing state of things, and determined to return 
those who would act differently towards the pro- 
prietor. The consequence was, as Janney tells us, 
that in the election of 1710 not a single member 
was returned but those who were friends of the 
founder of the province. He says, "By the elec- 
tion of the new assembly, harmony was restored 
to the government, and all its branches were dis- 
tinguished by sedulous successful a23plication to 
business. The expenses of the state were cheer- 
fully supplied ; the voice of complaint was hushed, 
while the manifold blessings enjoyed by the in- 
habitants were frankly acknowledged. In the year 
1712, the ascendency of the Friends in the assem- 
bly is indicated by the passage of an act to prevent 
the importation of negroes into the province. It is 
pleasing to reflect that, during the last three years 
of William Penn's participation in colonial afi'airs, 
harmony prevailed in the government of his pro- 
vince, and that an act so consonant with his feel- 
ings and principles was then passed, though 
subsequently vetoed by the British crown. It 
thus entitles Pennsylvania to the honorable dis- 
tinction of having led the way to a more humane 
system of legislation on the subject of slavery." 

On the 24th of Fifth-month, 1712, William Penn 
commenced a letter to James Logan, in which, 
after feelingly alluding to the death of his wife's 
father and mother, his pen suddenly stopped under 



William Penn attached by imralysls, 427 

the pressure of a paralytic seizure. It was the 
third time he had been assailed by paralysis, but 
on the present occasion far more severely than ever; 
and his intellect never recovered from the effects 
of this attack. His sweet temper and happy spirit 
remained, and a heart overflowing with love to 
God and man was as visible as in his brighter days. 
In fact, the memory of all recent things, and with 
it mental anxiety and intellectual power, had van- 
ished, whilst the spirit remained the same. He 
continued to attend Friends' meetings, and some- 
times spoke a few sentences exhorting Friends to 
love one another ; whilst, with a countenance beam- 
ing with sympathy and kindness, he used to meet 
with and part from them. In this condition, life 
wore away with little variation for five years. 

The family, which included the wife and three 
children of William Penn, jun., continued to reside 
at Ruscombe in Berkshire ; but the young man 
was seldom seen there. Two years after his father's 
malady commenced, Hannah Penn remarked in a 
letter to a friend, " I have not seen him this half- 
year, nor has he seen his father these eighteen 
months." After the lapse of another year she men- 
tions him in terms which show that he had become 
the victim of intempercance ; and at a still later 
date she says, '* I left my two daughters, Aubrey 
and Penn, to take care of their father and the 
family until my return. The latter is to be pitied, 
for, poor woman, her husband continues the same." 



428 Last illness of William Penn. 

Under date "Kuscombe, 2nd First-month, 1717,'* 
Hannah Penn writes of her husband, " My poor 
dearest's hfe is yet continued to us ; but I know 
not how long it may be, for he is very wxakly. I 
have for these hist three or four years continued 
this large house, only to keep him as comfortable 
as I can ; for he has all along delighted in walking 
and taking the air here, and does so still when the 
weather allows; and at other times diverts him- 
self from room to room. The satisfaction he takes 
therein is the greatest pleasure I have in so large 
a house, which I have long found too much for me, 
with our shrunk income." 

It should be mentioned that Thomas Story and 
Henry Gouldney of London were not only Hannah 
Penn's personal friends, but her chief advisers in 
matters connected with Pennsylvania as well as 
her own pecuniary affairs. On the 27th of Fifth- 
month, 1718, Thomas Story, when on his way to 
Bristol, called at Ruscombe to see his friends, and 
Hannah Penn appears to have taken him in her 
carriage to London, and to have returned home 
immediately, for on the next day she wrote him 
the following letter : — 

"Ruscombe, 28tli 5tb Mo. 1718. 

" Dear Friend, 

" I am ready to wish thou had delayed 
a day longer with us ; for thougli I found my poor 
husband last night near as I left him, yet this 



. Last illness of William Penn. 429 

morning he altered much, was taken with shivering 
and lowness of spirits, and divers symptoms like a 
sudden change ; on which the desolateness of my 
circumstances staring me in the face, and no friend 
with me capable of advising in such a juncture, I 
then regretted the opportunity I had lost of begging 
thy advice ; which indeed I thought to have done 
in the coach, but was willing to put the evil day 
yet further off. But, fearing it is drawing nigh, I 
would gladly have thy advice both with respect to 
my own and my children's safety, and for the quiet 
of Pennsylvania. May I have strength and wisdom 
to go through this trying day as I ought ; for which 
let me have thy earnest supplications at the Throne 
of Grace for thy affectionate but afflicted friend, 

" H. Penn." 

As the letter was not in time for that day's post, 
Hannah Penn added this postscript on the evening 
of the same day : — 

" 2Sth. — My poor husband is this day so much 
worse that I cannot expect his continuance till this 
time to-morrow. Hence I speed this messenger on 
purpose with my son's horse, to let thee know how 
it is, desiring thee to break the first notice thereof 
to him, and get leave of his master to let him 
come to me. But what induces me yet more is 
to get thy best advice how to act; for should not 
Henry Gouldney be able to come down, I should 



43 o Death of WlUiam Pemi. 

be most desolate and forsaken. I am ready to say, 

' Woe is me that I have lived to see this day of 

stripping — this most desolate day !' My dear love 

salutes thee and my cousin Webbs. I am your 

afflicted friend, 

" H. P." 

On the following morning she added : — 

" 30th, My poor dearest's last breath was fetched 
this morning between two and three o'clock. Pray 
give the enclosed to John."* 

Thomas Story says in his Journal, " On the 1st 
of Sixth-month we arrived at Ruscombe late in the 
evening, where we found the widow and most of 
the family together. Our coming occasioned fresh 
remembrance, and a renewed flood of many tears 
from all eyes. A solid time (of worship) we had 
together ; but few- words among us for some time ; 
it was a deep baptizing season, and the Lord was 
near. 

The interment took place on the Tth of Sixth- 
month, 1718, at Jordans, where the earthly remains 
of Vf illiam Penn were laid beside those of his be- 
loved wdfc Gulielma. 

There were various testimonies issued, expressive 
of the estimation in which the deceased was held 
by the Friends of the meetings with which he was 

■^ From Hannah Penn's orioinal letter in possession of Silvanus 
Thompson. Yorli:. 



Gharacter of WlUlam Penn, 431 

associated, and various notices of his character 
were left on record by those who knew him, all of 
which agree in their general tenor. But I have 
seen nothing which, within the same compass, more 
fully and more comprehensively combines his pro- 
minent characteristics than the document issued by 
the Monthly Meeting of Reading, to which he be- 
longed from the time he settled at Ruscombe. 
After speaking of his death and burial, and his 
residence in earlier times within the compass of 
other meetings, it concludes as follows : — 

He was a man of great abilities, of an excellent sweet- 
ness of disposition, quick of thought and ready utterance, 
full of the qualification of true discipleship, even love with- 
out dissimulation ; as extensive in charity as comprehensive 
in knowledge, and to whom malice or ingratitude were 
utter strangers ; so ready to forgive enemies that the un- 
grateful were not excepted. 

Had not the management of his temporal affairs been 
attended with some difficulties, envy itself would be to 
seek for matter of accusation ; and yet in charity even that 
part of his conduct may be ascribed to a peculiar sublimity 
of mind. Notwithstanding which he may, without strain- 
ing his character, be ranked among the learned, good, and 
great, whose abilities are sufficiently manifested throughout 
his elaborate writings, which are so many lasting monu 
ments of his admired qualifications, and are the esteem of 
learned and judicious men among all persuasions. 

And though in old age, by reason of some shocks of a 
violent distemper, his intellects were much impaired, yQt 
his sweetness and loving disposition surmounted its utmost 
etforts, and remained when reason almost fiiiled. 



432 Sympatliy for Hamiali Penn. 

In fine, he was learned without vanity, facetious in con- 
versation, yet weighty and serious ; apt witliout forward- 
ness ; of an extraordinary greatness of mind, yet void of the 
stain of ambition ; as free from rigid gravity as he was 
clear of unseemly levity ; a man, a scholar, a friend, a 
minister surpassing in superlative endowments ; whose me- 
morial will be valued by the wise, and blessed with the 
just. 

Signed by order of the Monthly Meeting, held 
at Reading aforesaid, by 

William Lomboll, Jun. 

7th of 2nd Mo. 1719. 

Numerous addresses and letters of sympathy 
came from the Friends of Pennsylvania to the be- 
reaved widow. The Indians, hearing of the death 
of their honoured brother Onas, sent her a message 
in their own figurative style, expressive of their 
sense of her great loss; and also a present com- 
posed of the skins of wild animals wherewith to 
form a cloak. This, they said, was to protect her 
whilst passing through the thorny wilderness with- 
out her guide. She alludes to it in the following 
letter to James Logan : — 

" Ruscombe, 12th 1st mo., 1719. 

" Dear Friend, 

" I take very kindly the sympathy of all 
those that truly lament mine and that country's 
loss ; which loss has brought a vast load of care, 
toil of mind, and sorrow upon me. . . . For my 
own part I expect a wilderness of care — of briars 



Penns personal appearance. 433 

and thorns transplanted here from thence. Whe- 
ther I shall be able to explore my way, even with 
the help of my friends, I have great reason to ques- 
tion, nothwithstanding the Indians' present, which 1 
now want to put on — having the woods and wilder- 
ness to travel through indeed !" 

Hannah Penn displayed great executive ability 
and judgment in the dispatch of the business which 
devolved on her, after her husband's malady inca- 
pacitated him for the management of his affairs. 
She also possessed that true womanly feeling and 
tenderness, which fitted her to be the sympathiz- 
ing nurse and companion of him who had chosen 
so well and wisely when he asked her to be his 
second wife. About four years after the death of 
William Penn she had an attack of paralysis, from 
which she partially recovered, and lived till the 
year 1726. By her desire her remains were laid 
in the same grave with those of her husband. 



William Penns Personal Appearance. 

Of the personal appearance of the founder of 
Pennsylvania we are told that " he was tall in sta- 
ture, and of an athletic make. When a young 
man he was handsome in person and graceful in 
his manners ; later in life he was inclined to corpu- 
lence, but, using much exercise, he retained his 
activity, and his appearance was then that of a fine, 
portly man." 

28 



4-34 William Pern is to HI. 

Clarkson says, " William Penn was very neat 
though plain in his dress. He walked generally 
with a cane. This cane he was accustomed to take 
with him in the latter part of his life into his study, 
where, when he dictated to his amanuensis, he 
would take it in his hand, and walking up and 
down the room, would mark, by striking it against 
the floor, the emphasis on points particularly to be 
noticed." Although he adhered to the simplicity 
of address peculiar to Friends, his manners were 
polished and courteous ; for, as he said in one of 
his letters, " I know of no religion which destroys 
courtesy, civility, and kindness." 



William Penns Will. 

The first paragraph in William Penn's will, after 
the declaration of its being his last will and testa- 
ment, stands thus : — 

" My eldest son being well provided for, by the 
settlement of his mother's and my father's estates, 
I give and dispose of the rest of my estates in the 
manner as followeth." 

Letitia Aubrey's husband having got a portion in 
money with her, and a promise of land in Pennsyl- 
vania, ten thousand acres were bequeathed to her, 
also ten thousand to each of William's children, 
Gulielma Maria, Springe tt, and William. All the 
residue of his property, after the payment of his 
debts, was to go to his wife Hannah Penn and her 



William Perms iDosterity. 4^^ 

five children, in such proportions as she thought fit. 
They were Jolm, Tliomas, Margaret, Ricliard, and 
Dennis, all minors. 

The prosperity of Pennsylvania eventually rose 
to such a height, that the wealth of those sons of 
the founder to whom it was bequeathed became 
what in that day appeared enormous. They all 
forsook the habits and principles of the religious 
society in which they had been educated, though 
continuing to profess great respect for the Quakers 
of the province. 



William Penns posterity. 

William Penn's eldest son William survived his 
father about two years. He died in the north 
of France in 1720, of consumption, deeply re- 
gretting his evil courses, and it is said thoroughly 
penitent. It has not been stated whether any of 
his family were with him at the time of his death. 
He had sold Worminghurst, his mother's estate, 
and had probably squandered the proceeds. The 
Irish estates descended to his sons. Springe tt, the 
elder, dying unmarried, the property reverted to 
William, the younger brother, who in 1732 mar- 
ried Christiana Forbes, dauo^hter of Alexander 
Forbes, a London merchant. She died before 
the expiration of that year, leaving an infant 
daughter who was named Christiana Gulielma. 
William Penn was afterwards married to Anne 



436 William Penns posterity 

Y.'iux. At what j^eriod he removed to reside in 
the county of Cork does not appear, hut in the 
records of the Society of Friends in Cork we find 
the two following entries* — one respecting his eld- 
est son, who was born there ; the other recording 
his own death : — 

" Springett Penn, son of William Penn and Anne his 
wife, was born at their dwelling-house in Bally phechane, 
in the South Liberties of the County of this City, between 
the hours of 8 and 9 in the evening, the first day of the 
First-month (March), lt38. 

" N. B. — The above memorial was delivered me b}^ the 
hand of William, the father of the above Springett, and 
desired it ma}^ be registered in this book. 

" Joshua Wight." 

" William Penn died at his house at Shangarry, about 
15 miles from Cork, of a dropsy, 12th month 6th. lUG." 

Springett Penn, whose birth is registered above, 
died unmarried in 1762, when his mother became 
his sole heir. He had not at the time of his death 
paid his sister's fortune. She had been married in 
the previous year to Peter Gaskill of Bath. Anne, 
the widow of William Penn, was subsequently mar- 
ried to Alexander Durden in 1767, and, djdng 
soon after, left him her sole heir. Christiana 

* These particulars have been procured for me from the provincial 
register at Cork meeting house, by Joshua (John) Strangman of Shan- 
garry, to whom I have been much indebted for many inquiries he has 
made on my behalf in connection with the present subject. 



Willicun Peuiis jjosterlff/, 43 y 

Giilielma's fortune was never paid, and Dardcn re- 
sisted the claims made upon him to obtain it. The 
result was a long suit in chancery, which did not 
terminate till the year 1800, when the Shangarry 
estate was divided between the heirs-at-law of Peter 
Gaskill and Alexander Durden. 

Gulielma Maria, only daughter of William Penn's 
eldest son William — she whom her grandfather 
called the little beauty — was married early in 
life, and her husband dying soon after, she was 
married a second time to Charles Fell, great grand- 
son to Judge Fell and his wife Margaret of Swarth- 
moor Hall. Of their descendants but few traces 
have been found, and these only through searches 
made in the Court of Canterbury, which have 
brought to light the will of their son Robert Ed- 
ward Fell, who does not appear to have been a 
married man. His will was proved on the 28th of 
February, 1787, by Thomas Brookholding, his sole 
executor, and the husband of his niece Philadel- 
phia. In it he leaves his sword and pistols to his 
nephew William Hawkins Newcombe. 

William Penn's daughter, Letitia Aubrey, was 
childless. She was interred at'Jordans, but there 
is no record of the time of her death. 

John Pean^ the eldest of William Penn's children 
])y his second marriage, died unmarried in 1746. 
His ]}rother Tliowa^ married Lady Juliana Fermer, 
daughter of the Eiiri of PoiniVet; he died in 1775, 
whilst she lived to ISOl. The Penns of Stoke 



438 Wlllkun Penns posterltij. 

Pogis, near London, and also those of Pennsylvania 
Castle, Isle of Portland near Weymouth, are de- 
scendants of Thomas Penn. His daughter, Sophia 
Margaret, was married to Dr. William Stuart, the 
youngest son of the Earl of Bute, whose wife was 
Mary, only daughter of Edward Wortley Monta- 
gue. In the year 1800 Dr. Stuart became Arch- 
bishop of Armagh, and died in 1822. His remains 
were laid in the family vault at Luton, where, on 
one of the walls of the Old Church, is a marble 
tablet bearing the following inscription : — 

In the same vault with 

THE HONOURABLE WILLIAM STUART, D.D. 

Primate of all Ireland, 

are deposited the remains of his widow, 

THE HONOURABLE SOPHIA MARGARET, 

the last surviving grand-daughter of 

WILLIAM PENN, 

the celebrated Founder of Pennsylvania ; 

Born 25th December, 1764, 

Died 29th April, 1847. 

Also LOUISA, their youngest daughter, 

who departed this life, 20th September, 1823. 

Aged 22 years. 

Hannah Pcnn's' only daughter, Margaret^ was 
married to Thomas Freame. They had a son who 
was named Thomas, also a daughter Philadelphia 
Hannah. This daughter was married to an Irish 
gentleman named Dawson, who in 1796 was cre- 
ated Lord Cremorne. Philadelphia, who became 
Lady Cremorne, died in 1826, aged 86 years. 



William Penns British residences. 43^ 

Hannah Penn\s son Richard had several children, 
some of whom were married in America, and pro- 
bably their descendants may still be traced in Penn- 
sylvania. 

Dennis Penn died young. 



William Pernios British Residences. 

Shangarry castle, William Penn's early Irish 
home, is now an ivy-covered ruin; but its tall 
tower, rising above the bright green foliage, gives 
a commanding and picturesque air to the remains. 

The house at Rickmansworth, (in Hertfordshire, 
three miles from Watford,) to which he took his 
Guli as a bride, is more perfect than any other of 
his residences. The front has evidently been mo- 
dernized, perhaps early in the present century ; the 
rear, opening on the garden, appears not to have 
been altered ; but the lawn, with its avenue of fine 
trees, no longer exists. 

Worminghurst House was situated on an emi- 
nence overlooking the beautiful south downs of 
Sussex, and within a few miles of the sea. It was 
razed to the ground long since, and the Worming- 
hurst estate absorbed in the domains of the Duke of 
Norfolk. Only the stables now remain to mark the 
spot where stood that sweet home so long bright- 
ened by Guli's presiding presence. 

RiLscombe, where William Penn lived during the 



440 Tlie EJlicoods. 

latter years of liis life, and where he died, is about 
six miles from Reading in Berkshire. The house, 
which was a fine one, was pulled down a few years 
ago to make way for a railway. 



The Elhvoods. 

Shortly after their marriage, in the year 1669, 
Thomas and Mary Ellwood removed to Plunger 
Hill,* a country-house near Larkin's Green, in a 
part of Hertfordshire enclosed by Buckingham- 
shire. Here they resided for the rest of their lives. 
For upwards of forty years the monthly meet- 
ing for Buckinghamshire was held at their house, 
which is beautifully situated, but in a very dilapi- 



"'^ The following lines are taken from the autograph collection of 
Thomas Elhvood's Poems so often referred to : — 

Direction to my friend inquiring the way to my house. 
Two miles from Beaconsfield, upon the road 
To Amersham, just whore the way grows broad, 
A little spot there is c:illed Larkin's Green, 
Where on a bank some fruit-trees may be seen ; 
In midst of which, on the sinister hand, 
A little cottage covertly doth stand. 
" Soho !" the people out, and then inquire 
For Hunger-hill ; it lies a little higher. 
But if the people should iVom home be gone. 
Ride up the bank some twenty paces on, 
And at the ordmrd's end tliou may'st perceive 
Two gates together hung. The nearest leave, 
The i'urthcst take, and sirnight the hill ascend. 
That path leads to the house where dwells thy friend, 

T. E. 



The Ellwoods. 441 

dated condition. Yet it cannot fail to be an object 
of interest whilst it holds together, as the chosen 
home of a good man, who was the familiar friend 
and pupil of Milton, a most attractive historian of 
his own life, and unwavering supporter of civil 
and religious liberty. 

Mary Ellwood died in 1708, and was buried at 
Jordans, five years before her husband. He testi- 
fies of her that before their marriage he thought he 
saw in her "those fair prints of truth and solid 
virtue" which he " afterwards found in a sublime 
degree." Except that " she was a solid weighty 
woman, who had a public testimony for the Lord 
and his Truth in meetings/' nothing has reached 
us respecting her which has not been already noted 
in the present volume. 

It was after her death that Thomas Ellwood 
wrote the " History" of his ovn\ life, which comes 
no further down than 1683, when he was in his 
forty-fourth year; and it is said to have been a 
cause of regret to him during his last illness that 
he had not completed it. Joseph Wyeth, the 
editor, has appended a supplement of more than 
a hundred pages, which with very slight ex- 
ception, are devoted to an account of Eilwood's 
controversial writings ; but these no longer have 
much interest except to the Quaker bibliographer. 
Tlie personal traits with which he has favoured us 
are few, but they bring Thomas Ellwood vividly 
before us. '^ He had a peculiar gift for govern- 



44^ The Ell woods. 

ment in the Church, and used to come up con- 
stantly to the Yearly Meeting in London, and was 
very serviceable therein by his grave counsel and 
advice, especially in difficult matters. . . . He 
lived a private retired life, not concerning himself 
with much business in the world, but gave himself 
to reading and writing, and lived in good repute 
among Friends and all sorts of people to a pretty 
good age. He bore his age very well, being of a re- 
gular life and healthy constitution. ... In his latter 
years he was somewhat troubled with an asthma, 
and at last was taken ill of a palsy. On the eighth 
day of his sickness, which was the 1st of the Third- 
month, 1713, he departed this life in the seventy- 
fourth year of his age, and was buried on the 4th of 
the same month at Jordans." Joseph Wyeth says 
" he was a man of comely aspect, of a free and 
generous disposition, of a courteous and affable 
temper, and pleasant conversation ; a gentleman 
born and bred, a scholar, a true Christian, an 
eminent author, a good neighbour, and a kind 
friend, who is much lamented and will be much 
missed at home and abroad." 

Of his last illness another account informs us that 
" his sickness was sudden, which soon deprived 
him of the use of his limbs ; yet he retained th.e 
faculties of his inward and outward senses clear all 
along; and notwithstanding at times his pains Avere 
great, his exemplary patience and composed re- 
signation were remarkably apparent to those that 



The Ellwouds. 



443 



visited and attended him, so that their sorrow in 
parting with so dear a friend was intermixed with 
comfort in beholding the heavenly frame of mind 
wherewith he was adorned." 

I shall conclude this notice with a few passages 
from the numerous religious testimonies respect- 
ing Thomas EUwood which were issued after his 
death, as they portray with antique racy quaint- 
ness and evident faithfulness his admirable and 
attractive character : — " He was greatly respected 
by his neighbours for his services amongst them ; 
his heart and doors were open to the poor ; both 
sick and lame, who wanted help, had it freely; 
taking care to provide useful things for such occa- 
sions — blest also with good success ; often saying 
' he mattered not what cost he was at to do good.' " 
..." He was of a tender spirit, and had dominion 
over passion, over pride, and over covetousness, so 
he was comfortable to, and in his family. He was 
amiable in the Church of Christ, and a doer of 
good amongst his neighbours." ..." He was a 
man of a very acceptable and agreeable conversa- 
tion, as well as sober and religious, both in the 
church and in the world, being of a free and affable 
temper and disposition, far from affectation, but of 
a courteous behaviour and graceful carriage to all, 
and very serviceable to and amongst his neigh- 
bours. He was very near and dear to many of us, 
who were most intimately acquainted with him, 
and his memorial is sweet to us." Such are some 



444 Jordans Biirkd-fjroiuid. 

of the cliaracteristic features wliicli Thomas Ell- 
wood's intimate friends ascribed to him. How 
much they embraced of all which renders domestic 
and social life happy may be seen at a glance. 



Jordans Meeting House and Burial Ground. 

The Meeting House, which is in the immediate 
vicinity of the Burial Ground, is a plain brick 
building, with tiled roof and lattice window. " It 
stands upon rather high ground ) but its site is in a 
dell, surrounded by meadows and beechwoods. 
There is one rather large dwelling-house within 
sight, called Stone Deane, which in former times 
was a residence of Friends ; with this exception 
the visitor may ramble for some distance without 
passing any sort of habitation but an occasional 
homestead. It is a thoroughly agricultural district, 
and is both primitive and peaceful in its character, 
as well as peculiarly picturesque and sequestered."*^'* 
It is situated in a beautiful part of Buckingham- 
shire, almost exactly midway between Beaconsfield 
and Chalfont St. Giles, being about two and a 
quarter miles from each of these places. It is two 
miles from the village of Chalfont St. Peter,-)* 

* See A Visit to the Grave of William Fenn, London, W. and F. 
Cash, 1853, for many additional interesting particnlars. 

f The Grange, the former residence of Isaac Penington, is in the 
pai-ish of Chalfont, St. Peter ; Milton's house is in the parish of Chalfont 



Jordaiis Burial-ground. 445 

six from Amersliam, and twenty-tliree from Lon- 
don. The most convenient means of reaching 
Jordans from London is by the Great Western 
Railway to West Drayton station, thence by a 
short branch to Uxbridge, from whence it is seven 
miles distant by the high road. 

Tombstones have latterly been introduced into 
this interesting burial-place, which direct the visitor 
to the graves wherein rest the remains of so many 
of the Penns and Peningtons, and of Thomas and 
Mary Ell wood. It is between twenty and thirty 
years since a question was raised amongst Friends, 
as to the propriety of reversing a rule against the 
admission of tombstones into their burial-grounds, 
which was originally adopted in consequence of 
some of the relatives of the earlier members of the 
Society having gone beyond the practice of simply 
inscribing name and date upon the stone. Indeed 
it may not be generally known that the grave of 
George Fox himself was furnished not only with a 
headstone, but his coffin was provided with a plate 
engraved with his name and age. Those who 
are curious in such matters are referred for further 
information to the Fells of Swarthmoor Hall and 
tJieir Friends^ page 369. It was ultimately de- 
cided in the Yearly Meeting that any who desired 

St. Giles, about a mile from the Grange ; and Woodside, the last home 
of the Peningtons, is very near Amershani. 



446 Jordans B anal' ground. 

to have small memorial stones, simply inscribed 
with names and dates, to mark the graves of their 
friends, should be left at liberty to do so, under 
the supervision of their respective monthly meet- 
ings. Shortly afterwards, the Friends of the meet- 
ing to which Jordans belongs had tombstones 
erected to mark such graves as could be identified 
from the registry. 

Of these the only graves belonging to the Pening- 
ton family are those of Isaac and Mary Penington, 
and of their eldest son John, who died in 1710. 
It is presumed that he left no family behind him. 
The interment of Hannah Penington, daughter 
of William and Elizabeth Penington, is recorded 
under the date of 1696. As no other member of 
William Penington's family is mentioned, we may 
infer that they removed from that neighbourhood. 

Mary, the only daughter of Isaac and Mary 
Penington, was married to Daniel Wharley, but I 
have found no trace of her life or family. 

Edward, the youngest of the Penington family, 
settled in Pennsylvania. He was surveyor-general 
of the province, and was married in 1699 to Sarah, 
daughter of Samuel Jennings, the Quaker Gover- 
nor of New Jersey. He died in Philadelphia two 
years after his marriage, leaving one son named 
Isaac, from whom the Peningtons of Philadelphia 
are descended. 

THE END. 



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